My fascination with double denim doesn't appear to have abated. And I'm clearly not the only one that is enamoured.
Perhaps it's the way doubling up on the blue gives you that I could not care less nonchalance that is so damn hard to cultivate. Maybe it's a nod to fashions past, or a overdeveloped sense of appreciation for a fabric that has become increasingly woven (pun intended) into our culture. Maybe it's the infestation of our sartorial lives by nineties reincarnations. Maybe it's the fashion anarchists in us all pushing back against 'rules' that are basically bullshit.
The Canadian Tuxedo, as the look is so eloquently known - no really I'm a fan of the phrase - was a faux pas of the greatest kind. It was a pointer to your economic or social status, it was the domain of a select few who made their own rules. It was the bastion of pop bands who dressed in that weird matchy way - a la Destinys Child - and, of course, Britney and Justin. Until the end of the first decade in the new century, when designers like Ralph Lauren, Stella McCartney, Chloe, Dries and Isabel Marant embraced the idea and now rocking a Canadian Tuxedo points more to your ability to navigate trends than anything else.
My own DD (just to be clear I'm not discussing my bra size here) started with my first denim shirt, which I'll admit, came about a few short years ago - probably around the time Stella and Dries got on board. In a strange twist, my dear Mother has been rocking the double blue for some time. Something that induced a overwhelming amount of sartorial induced shame in my adolescence. Now I'm like a freaking poster child (adult) for double denim in all its guises. These days if I'm not wearing denim in some duplicated way I'm probably naked.