Honorable Discharge

It was that time. I had been working on my beloved New Cures for the better part of two years and they finally got to the point where the structural integrity was seriously under question. The joke about being repaired to the extent of replacing all of the original denim stopped being funny when it became a clear possibility (side note: pretty humorous that the only selvedge denim on the jeans is where The Stronghold did a repair on the cuffs). I also knew it was time to count my chips and cash out when a buddy of mine told me my jeans were looking "very Backstreet Boysish." Noted with thanks.

On that note... a trip to APC was in order. Which segues into a gripe I have with the company. Upon seeing my well-loved jeans, APC offered me 50% off of a new pair in exchange for handing mine over only to be sold at an inflated price. What? At least The Jean Shop will do a trade straight out. I think I'll just sell mine out on the curb in front of the store.




You can't fake the stories these jeans can tell. Tales of my Mother's love where she carefully repaired them with upholstery fabric. Mystery stains from various late nights at places I shouldn't have been in the first place. Grease and oil from an engine I didn't even know how to fix and had no business being near. Blown-out crotch from the twelve-mile Deth Riders tour of Hollywood at 1AM on a Tuesday. And all kinds of other good things neatly displayed and folded into the creases. If you love something, set it free. And you, my fine whipstitched-repaired friend, are free. Go do something you might feel you'll regret but probably won't in a pair of good jeans. Get dirty!























As I type, I am breaking in my cardboard-horribleness that is a new pair of APC raw jeans, daydreaming of a day when the backs of my knees don't hurt from the creases.