Life... and the onslaught of male corsets...

Jeans - the bane of my existence. I never liked them for what they are: fashion items from the fascist cold-war era. Who ever made them popular is both crafty and worthy of at least one blunt bullet. I don't think anyone would naturally want to wear something skin-tight, constricting and limit almost all possible movement. It further confirms my ghastly and unnatural suspicions: humanity thrives on suffering. The person that came up with the jeans idea must be one sick puppy. A great genius, perhaps of my calibre, would suggest lycra as a more desirable substitute. Comfort, class, and down to earth honesty - the real garment of the future.

Anyway, I digress.

Unfortunately mother nature has cursed me with an unnecessary asset: a set of child-bearing hips. Who in their right mind would want a size 30 waist to be mated to a set of mammoth sized buttocks and thighs? Barbie may have had the same generous proportions, but she also had her entire wardrobe tailor made. I don't think I'll really ever need to use my child-bearing hips anyway, I am not sure if I even like kids; summations of which could be outlined in another article.

Besides, the ergonomic design of such hips are quite incompatible with jeans. Every time I try a pair on, it is like squeezing into a bum-bra three sizes too small. What make the experience even more infuriating is the fact that once I've found a pair that would fit my waist, my buttocks and thighs would feel as if they were been molested by an Amazon anaconda. Should I on the other hand find a pair that would miraculously fit my more generous pelvic proportions, I get the leers and stares from young children, essentially screaming, "Wow mummy look, a marsupial shopping for jeans...".

Incidentally, one should never purchase a pair of jeans without passing the "Does my buttocks look great in these pair of jeans" test. This is a crucial test where the fate of the humankind hangs in a delicate precarious balance. Garment too loose and I mind as well wear nappies for the sake of sanitising convenience. Garment too tight and it would be more comfortable to tattoo a large rainbow across my forehead. Given that I did not possess an unbiased source of opinion in close proximity, ie. girlfriend or an unfortunate family member, this test was not able to be completed. In effect - the rest of humanity may now have to pick up my procreating duties for me.

Oh, it is a day for self-mourning indeed.

On the quest goes. I am sure the search for the holy grail was not as arduous as this. The efforts of the Crusades could hardly compare to what I had to endure. I visited every single mall. Every single mens' wear store. Just Jeans. Levis. Hallensteins. Ballentines. Sergios. Hayden's menswears. Glassons... ok, perhaps not. But I was desperate. Desperate individuals in the past have been driven to do extraordinary things. I was not far off from being extraordinarily mad.

The unfathomable frustration can best be summed up by a Levis shop assistant: "You know... it isn't uncommon for guys to wear girls jeans...". Good one buster, a way to sell jeans. I am seventy-three percent masculine as per the gender identity test at http://web.tickle.com/tests/genderidentity/index.jsp . Not less than fifty, or whatever vicious rumours may tell you. I voiced my utter discontent by promptly leaving the store wearing my disgruntled and violated demeanor.

At the end of my long intrepid journey, I settled on a pair of Levis 527s'. They are a pair of bootcut hipsters which avoids the issue of my mutant-like diminutive waist aperture. They also have the stone-washed texture in the front which could add a few more points to the masculinity score, though I suspect the hipster cut may have washed-out this intended effect.

Never less. I now own a pair of jeans, which is reason enough for a grand and pompous celebration. Now I'll just need to figure out how I can walk in them properly.