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Man Makes the Clothes



My little holiday continues – please be polite enough not to ask, “From what?– so here is (what I hope will prove to be) another blast from the past. This first appeared on 25 August 1995.


MY FIRST PAIR of Levi-Strauss jeans lasted longer than my first relationship, though I must confess that my girlfriend did come first, as the girlfriends of all polite men should. I was 16 when I met Lisa and 17 when I discarded Wranglers and Lee’s, the Dixie and Pepsi-Colas of blue jeans, and got into Levis, the real denim thing; I was 21 when Lisa and I broke up and 26 when the last threads of those original Levis fell off me.

My first Levis lasted twice as long as my first girlfriend, longer than most modern marriages. (What’s the difference between herpes and true love? Herpes really lasts forever.) When they finally died, they had faded to near-white, witbh flecks of blue discernible only at the creased waistband and frayed cuffs (and two strips of deep, dark, original blue on the inside of the fold in the flies). The famously-stiff denim had grown smooth and soft, closer to silk than canvas, and had taken on the shape of my body from hips to ankles so thoroughly that it looked like I was wearing them even when they were draped over the back of a chair. I swear, I have got into latex condoms less comfortable than those old Levis.

(If you permit an aside ‑‑ and where would we be if you didn’t ‑‑ let me confess that, because I know that a lot of young people read this stuff, I considered substituting either women or relationships for the word condoms in the last paragraph; it is funnier to get into women less comfortable than jeans; and “relationships” is less likely to offend priests, pundits, imams and editors.

But then I thought: No, condoms is what any responsible adult, should use, particularly with young people in mind. It is not irresponsible of me to use condoms; au contraire (as the French would say, aptly, at this point), I would be failing in what I perceive to be my God-given duty if I failed to remind youngsters at every turn that condoms exist.

I suspect the RC Archbishop would disagree with me, and I encourage him to do so in the newspapers, giving good, practical arguments to fortify any superstitious or religious ones against condom usage. Surely God wants the word condoms on the lips of every responsible young person in the over-populated, Aids-stricken Third World today, and packets of condoms in their pockets.)

(At last, after three full paragraphs, I closed those brackets; but then I opened these ones immediately. This is how I have to do it: for me, the shortest distance between two points is a circle. One day, I fully expect this entire column to appear in parentheses; kind of like my life. Maybe I’ll write a column of asides next week, if nothing else demands contemplation. It seems a challenging prospect: to be able to get through an enterprise in totality without actually beginning it; again, kind of like my life.)

People over 25 can probably remember their own first Levis with fondness. In the Seventies and early Eighties, jeans were like good friends who knew you well, and truly, because you’d been through so much (and, I suppose, so many) together. It’s just not like that any more. The last thing I want to be is a retro-wanker for pants, the Lenny Kravitz of clothing, but, really, in the Nineties, it is impossible to develop special relationships with items of clothing because they just don’t last.

I picked up a pair of Levis to put them on yesterday and, when I attempted to undo the rivet at the waist, it came off in my hand, just tore out of the cloth of the waistband. I stood in shock, staring at the little imitation-brass object and wanted to make an objection; the only thing it riveted was my attention. I hadn’t even put the jeans on, just unbuttoned them; it wasn’t even a case of wear-and-tear, just tear. The pants aren’t even two years old; they’re still dark blue.

But that is the way of the world today. Levi-Strauss, a company that made its name in the old Wild West by making products that lasted a working lifetime on a cattle ranch, now make pants that fall apart in your hands in Conservative London, but still cost twice as much as their better-quality predecessors. I’ve come to accept that jeans are made of such thin material nowadays that, within months, there are gaping holes in the knees and everywhere else -- but the Levis’rivet falling off?

But then, I think, why am I surprised? If you found a pair of Levis from the Seventies -- maybe you could peel a pair off Lenny Kravitz, or one of the young singers of the “new”bands who listen to Led Zeppelin and shop in Oxfam and Goodwill Industries -- you would notice something striking at the back of them, above the left rear pocket: a leather label. Look at a pair of Levis today: understand the cardboard label bearing the manufacturer’s name and you understand the world.

Manufacturers today have happily abandoned all pride for tiny increases in profits, and, instead of heartfelt satisfaction, consumers are left with cardboard labels. Where Hollywood once gave us Executive Suite and Sophia Loren, it now offers Disclosure and Demi Moore. It’s swapped leather for cardboard and beauty for silicone.

I looked at the 1995 Levis’ un-rivet in my hand and saw 1789 France. I learned in history that France was in a truly revolutionary position then, because her society had to be changed to alleviate the suffering of the multitude, and it was impossible to change society except through upheaval from the bottom. Life, and happiness, is as much about giving as taking, something rich people have forgotten. I would remind Levi-Strauss, in my own little way, that the rich can only take everything from the poor, and the world is in a miserable, truly revolutionary position when Madonna’s relationships last longer than her jeans.

BC Pires is a revolutionary and believes all things will come full circle

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