Sunday, August 25, 2013
My denim is always distressed. I on the other hand was only distressed for the past week and a half. My distress disappeared on Friday afternoon when I finally submitted the essay that had been hanging over my head like some kind of anvil, like the kind that always seems to miss The Road Runner and take out Wile E. Coyote. This same essay had also kept me from this here business, so engaged, entrenched, obsessed, wrapped up in this essay was I, that it's been over a week since I've posted anything here.
I return with the sartorial blessing that is distressed denim.
I've long been a fan. A little torn up denim seems to add the perfect amount of nonchalance to any get up. Which of course is what we are all looking for right? Looking like you actually tried is so last year, or considering the speed things happen in 2-0-1-3, last week maybe.
I recall debuting a lovingly distressed pair of jeans at a family function many moons ago and having a sartorially challenged family member asking me first of all, if I'd actually paid for pants with holes in them. Yes, yes I did. Said family member then told me that they could have done that for me for nothing.
Which leads me to these particular torn up denims. They are the result of an afternoon with a spare half an hour, a pair of scissors and some sand paper. Put those three together and you'll get something distressed. In my case, it was denim.
It's the ultimate in simple diy, in personalised customisation, in life, basically.
And that is my slogan from here on out, distressed denim for life, basically.