The Internet practically exploded when news hit of Levi’s new Wedgie jeans—a pair inspired by the brand’s classic ‘60s 505 vintage offering that makes use of strategically placed seams to flatter, lift, and show off your bum. I was immediately intrigued. But, truth be told, I’d barely even tried a pair of Levi’s on, save for a depressing experience in the flagship dressing room. I could wiggle them to just below my butt before giving up.
I’m certainly a jeans and a tee type of girl, it’s a combination that feels the most like me. But over the years my penchant for casual-cool clothing has turned into somewhat of a stagnant uniform. I spent years solely wearing stretchy, high-waisted skinny jeans because that was the only thing that fit comfortably. Now, let me be clear. I know that my particular body is not the only shape that has difficulty—not by a long shot. But somewhere along the line there became this divide in fashion and fit, where you’re either meant to slip into a sample or shop plus size. Which is why the launch of these jeans felt really important.
Designers are finally taking a curvy woman’s body into account when making clothes on a mainstream level. I mean, it doesn’t get more iconic than a pair of Levi’s, right? At first glace, the jeans look small. I started to panic. But strangely enough they slid on, no problem. Perhaps those Traveling Pants girls knew what they were talking about. The Wedgie jeans check a lot of my usual boxes: high rise (to accentuate the waist), slim through the hip and thigh (to highlight curves), but the heavyweight selvedge denim and the tapered leg opening are new to me. They give off more of a lived-in feel than my go-tos, but the thick, low-stretch denim prevents sagging. Plus, the back pockets are slightly tilted inwards to round and perk up your butt.
And the button fly. It’s included to channel the aesthetic of the 501s, but I know what you’re thinking: “Those are so annoying. What about when you desperately have to pee?” I pondered the same thing. But the buttons do this magical thing to suck in and flatten my stomach, and easily open in times of need. I’m sure there’s some law of physics that proves my point, but I think you should just give them a try. You’ll be pleasantly surprised by the results.
The success in not only pulling them up, but easily buttoning them and comfortably walking around sparked what I coined as my Pants Renaissance. (Style director Nicole Kliest can attest to that, I’ve been talking about it nonstop in the office.) All of sudden I started noticing an abundance of different options as I perused the racks. Perhaps the issue stems further than a perceived lack of options into my own unconscious. Yes, there aren’t a ton of choices for girls with curves (to accentuate, rather than disguise), but I was playing into the whole thing too. I didn’t venture into uncharted clothing territory for fear of rejection. “I can't wear that shape, it’ll never be flattering,” or, “My body type won't look good” were consistent thoughts running through my mind. It took the advent of these jeans to reconfigure my own thinking.
A good pair of jeans changes my confidence—igniting something inside that leads to particularly fun night or a round of cheeky flirtation. And when I really think about it, that tenacity is a celebration of my body in and of itself. And while I don’t have Beyoncé-style curves, I certainly consider my butt an asset. It feels good to look good. And, even more than that, it feels good to wear clothing that someone made with your body in mind.