With a heavy heart, today I must say goodbye to you. While you’ve been an integral part of my life and as difficult as it is for me to give you up, I no longer have a choice.
The memory of our first meeting is still clear as day. It was 2007 - my first winter in New York was coming up and I needed to buy myself some cold weather clothes. As I was walking by the Sale sign outside The Gap on 68th and Broadway, I decided that I should check out their winter line. However, within a couple of minutes I realized that the collection in the store was of no interest to me. It was then that I saw you. Dark blue, not too skinny and not baggy, sitting on a hangar directly in my line of vision. You were the first pair I picked up and you were my size.
Inside the trial room, you slipped on easily, snug but comfortable. It was as if you were custom made for me. I knew I had to have you. The cost of acquisition was unimportant (after all how expensive could Gap jeans be anyway?) and as I took out my credit card, I paid no attention to the dollar figure that I was signing under.
We’ve been to a lot of places. Paired with a blazer and dress shoes, you’ve accompanied me to nice restaurants and even a matinee performance at the Opera. When I gained a couple of pounds, I wore you with my shirt out, the lycra helping with my breathing. As you began getting older, you got close to my Converse shoes and T-shirts. I liked how you were growing up. Fraying at the bottom, then slowly a little on one knee and the left back pocket. It seemed strategic and cool. I was enjoying the new mature you.
You knew that I was never a ‘one pair of jeans’ kinda guy. While I had to have an entourage, you were always special. You were the pair that has traveled with me the most, across states, countries and continents. I could never leave you behind. The Armani's and the Lucky's couldn’t dethrone you. Which is why they continue to sit in my closet, much less worn out, much less a part of my life.
Each time I put you in the washer or sent you to the laundry, I wondered how much longer we would be together. Trashed around with other clothes, wrung and tumble dried over high temperatures, how long could you possibly last? But you did. Five years, hundreds of wears, hundreds of washes, the pocket now hanging by it's threads, my wallet exposed to the world, I was just not ready to let you go. Until now ...
My dear pair of now medium blue 1969 Gap original fit jeans, there's nothing I can do but to bid adieu. You are ripped in a spot that has left me with no choice but to end our relationship. If it was the knees or the bottoms, I would turn you into shorts and save you. If it was the pockets, I would just use the front ones to store my wallet.
But at the crotch? Really? I don’t think people would appreciate seeing my underwear.
I see you sitting in my closet and I know that it will take me some time before I can let go of you completely. At this point I have no ideas. I must hold on to you as long as I my wardrobe has room. How does one dispose off jeans with respect? Cremate? Bury? Couldn’t possibly dump you in the garbage.
RIP my favorite pair of jeans. It just won’t be the same without you.
