fashion – Nick Grant

Tag: fashion

  • False Economy

    This is a story about value for money…

    Torn jeans

    I watched a documentary about the manufacture of jeans, and I was surprised to learn that most of the jeans which we buy in our high-street shops come from a handful of factories, in Turkey, Bangladesh and Pakistan. Indeed, almost 80% of the jeans we buy come from nearly identical factories. The premium brand jeans are made in exactly the same factories, using exactly the same method, and by exactly the same machines and people. The only difference between £300 jeans and £30 jeans, is the label, and the style.

    Of course, you might say, style is everything. For sure, I don’t want my jeans to be too heavily faded, too baggy, too skinny… but also too plain. Having a bit of character is what makes a pair of jeans look good – fashionable – instead of being just a plain old pair of blue denim trousers.

    You might think that, knowing the facts that I do, that I wouldn’t be so foolish as to assume that my mid-priced jeans would last longer than a cheaper brand… but you’d be wrong.

    The knee just tore on my premium brand jeans, which cost me about twice as much as I’ve ever spent on a pair of jeans in my life. I suppose I’ve owned these jeans for two years, and worn them almost every day, so in terms of value for money, we could say that they’ve cost me something like 18 pence per day… which sounds quite reasonable, to me.

    The problem with “pre-distressed” jeans is that, although they look ‘good’ from the moment you put them on, they end up looking progressively more and more scruffy, until people just assume that you’re so poor that you can’t afford new clothes; until they cease to be fashionable and instead become part of a dishevelled look, which nobody finds particularly attractive.

    Anyway, I’ve done something which I’ve never done before in my life, which is to purchase clothes without trying them on in a shop. I had a horrible retail experience on Sunday, where I had to queue in the rain to get into the shop, and then queue again to purchase the product I was buying. Also, given that my city is in a second lockdown, it seemed more civic minded to do my shopping online.

    At least I don’t have to be in the office anytime this year, so nobody at work will see me wandering around in jeans with a massive rip in the knee. I literally only ever own one pair of jeans which I love and wear all the time. I suppose I should buy several of certain items, when I find something I like, so that I have a like-for-like replacement when the item(s) eventually wear out. I’ve done that before, with a few things, and it’s a good strategy for somebody like me, who has a very small wardrobe.

    I’m sure you probably came here hoping to read something a little less mundane than a 500 word essay about my worn-out jeans. Sorry.

     

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  • Safe Socks

    This is a story about retail therapy…

    Supermarket Socks

    My latest addiction is sock-buying. I am spending almost £16 a week on socks. My sock habit is raging out of control.

    I’m not buying socks like the ones pictured above.

    I’ve become hooked on buying stupid childish socks in bright colours and with cartoons on them. I’m getting immense pleasure from buying socks with whimsical slogans on them. I’m totally addicted to the buzz I get from choosing, buying and wearing sills socks.

    I’m not a morning person.

    However, choosing the socks I’m going to wear on any given day, is something that’s a real highlight of my day. For something so relatively inexpensive – costing an average of £2.67 per pair – those simple socks pack a surprising punch. I feel genuine joy and happiness every time I see my growing sock collection and I pick out the pair that I’m in the mood to wear.

    I have socks with an English breakfast of sausages, beans and fried eggs on them. I have socks with foxes on them. I have socks with dinosaurs on them. I have socks with hamburgers on them. I have socks with sock puppets on them, as a demonstration of the meta-stupidity I’ve descended into.

    I know that other members of my clan of geeks have huge T-shirt collections, but it would be inappropriate for me to wear a T-shirt at work, no matter how witty and hilarious I thought its design was. My choice to wear silly socks is my way of thumbing my nose at the establishment, while also recognising that it’s a pretty good idea not to bite the hand that feeds me – I’m well paid, I like my colleagues and I find the work to be increasingly tolerable.

    Given the vast number of things which I could possibly become addicted, and the harmful behaviours and bodily abuse which could ensue, the sock thing seems mostly harmless.

     

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