The Husband Jeans

I’m not a jeans wearer, my go-to wardrobe basics are leather skirts and vintage dresses, certainly not denim. I find jeans challenging because I feel fat in them, I know that’s poisonous insecurity talking but it’s difficult to shake off my pestiferous internal monologue. I’m trying to get past my jeans aversion – they are jolly useful after all. As much as I’m ok with being the most dressed up person in the room, I sometimes yearn to be one of those nonchalant women who appear to not have made a jot of effort. The ones who rock up to any event looking like they’ve rolled out of bed, peeled a pair of skinny jeans off the floor, thrown on a t-shirt and look the business.  Alas, I fear that girl will never be me, my style roots lie in nipped in waists and jewel embellishments. However, when I do delve into denim, I slip on this old pair of my husband’s – he usually wears them to do the garden, but I think they look cool with high heels. I generally dislike anything that’s artificially ‘distressed’, it feels altogether too contrived. However, I’m down with bonafide scruffiness – these jeans have a worn in comfort and softness that’s hard to beat. I’ve paired them with a sweatshirt from Whistles, heels from Topshop and an old bracelet ring from Zara.

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