Sporting the frayed jean in summer means you have to be OK with an unabashed display of your mankles
Blue denim and I have never been friends. I associate it with the kind of bleak Americana seen in films such as Porky’s and lunkheaded jocks who might beat me up in a parking lot. Blue jeans stare at me from across the store floor and say, “You don’t play enough American football to wear me, sucker!” I make an inward squeak and head to the safety of the black jeans aisle.
In fact traditional blue jeans seem never to have quite recovered from being worn by Jeremy Clarkson – a sartorial death sentence that saw them labelled “dad jeans” and hastily shoved to the back of the closet. It was difficult not to feel they would for ever be associated with the “visiting a garden centre at the weekend” vibe.