Threadbare blues

Something new, old, borrowed, and blue. It’s a fitting description for what vintage Levi’s jeans have become in my wardrobe. My body has changed over the years, and with that, so have my clothes. And finding a pair of jeans that fit you just so is a different kind of discovery and joy altogether. They are new to me, yet old in this world, borrowed from someone else’s day-to-day wear, faded but still blue and even lovingly renewed with stitches and patterns.

Every pair holds with it a history, not just the history of a brand or a type of clothing synonymous with the American West, but the history of a person, maybe more, who walked, skipped, and danced in them. I may not know their names but a few hints hidden in the tags, buttons, and seams tell me something about the time in which they lived, some pairs as old as me. As they fit and mold to my body, my movement, and my habits, I think about someone in the future who might make them their new, old, borrowed, and blue – maybe one of my own children, maybe a stranger – and if they, too, might be thinking about me. It’s a love letter from the past, present, and the future.