It Was Never About the Jeans
It was an ordinary Tuesday and, for no particular reason, I decided it was time to buy a new pair of jeans.
Now, I should probably explain something.
I’ve always loved jeans. In fact, if you opened my wardrobe, you’d find more pairs than any one person could possibly justify owning. Some fit perfectly. Some are comfortable enough that I could happily wear them every day. And then there are what I affectionately call my dream jeans.
You probably have something similar tucked away somewhere.
They’re the pair you haven’t worn for years but can’t quite bring yourself to donate because, well… one day. One day you’ll lose those few kilos, they’ll magically slide back on, and you’ll wonder why you ever considered getting rid of them.
At least, that’s the story I’ve been telling myself.
As I stood in front of the mirror getting ready to go shopping, I found myself smiling at the ridiculousness of it all. Apparently my wardrobe wasn’t just storing clothes. It was storing optimism.
Buying jeans has never really been the difficult part, though.
The difficult part has always been deciding who I wanted to be while I was wearing them.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve admired women who seem to effortlessly throw together those relaxed, slightly bohemian outfits. You know the look. A pair of faded jeans, a soft linen shirt, a colourful scarf that somehow lands in exactly the right place, a few interesting bracelets and boots that look as though they’ve travelled the world. They always appear completely comfortable in their own skin, as though they simply wandered out the front door looking exactly like themselves.
Trying on Someone Else’s Life – Is that Authentic
I’ve tried to recreate that look more times than I care to admit.
Been shopping for the flowing tops, experimented with oversized cardigans, chunky necklaces and long scarves. I’ve stood in countless dressing rooms convinced that this would finally be the outfit that transformed me into one of those effortlessly stylish women.
Then I’d catch sight of myself in the mirror.
Instead of looking relaxed and authentic, I always felt as though I was wearing someone else’s life.
As I’ve gotten older, that feeling has only become stronger. Not because I’ve stopped liking the clothes, but because somewhere along the way I quietly started wondering whether I was too old to wear them. Too sensible to pull them off or simply… not that kind of person.
Looking back now, I don’t think I was really questioning the outfit at all.
I was questioning whether I had permission to be myself.
Funny, isn’t it? How often we admire people because they seem so effortlessly authentic, while quietly talking ourselves out of the very things that make us feel most like ourselves.
I don’t think I realised it then, but I wasn’t really shopping for jeans that Tuesday.
I was shopping for permission to be myself.
The Great Jeans Debate
Walking into a clothing store these days is a little like walking into a foreign country. I remember when buying jeans was fairly straightforward. You picked your size, maybe chose between blue or black, and got on with your day.
Not anymore.
Now you’re confronted with walls of denim proudly announcing skinny, slim, straight, bootleg, boyfriend, girlfriend, mum jeans, wide leg, barrel leg, high rise, mid rise, low rise, cropped, ankle length and who knows what else. Honestly, I’m surprised they don’t have a section labelled, “We have absolutely no idea either.”
How is one pair of trousers expected to have so many personalities?
I wandered around the store pretending I knew exactly what I was looking for while secretly hoping someone else looked just as confused as I felt.
Eventually I gathered an optimistic little pile and made my way towards what I can only describe as every woman’s least favourite room in the entire shopping centre.
The dressing room.
Who designs those mirrors?
I’ve often wondered whether the people responsible have a secret competition to see who can make perfectly lovely human beings question every life choice they’ve ever made.
The lighting isn’t much better either.
Apparently the goal is to recreate the experience of standing under fluorescent lights in a hospital corridor while simultaneously highlighting muscles you didn’t even know you had.
More Than Just a Mirror
I pulled on the first pair.
Too tight.
The second pair.
Too loose around the waist but somehow tight around the knees. I still haven’t worked out how that’s physically possible.
The third pair looked quite promising until I turned sideways and realised they seemed to have been designed for somebody with legs considerably longer than mine.
As I stood there swapping one pair for another, I couldn’t help laughing at myself. There I was, having an internal debate about whether bootleg jeans made me look older, whether skinny jeans were now completely unacceptable, whether wide-leg jeans suited someone my age or whether I was trying just a little too hard to be someone else.
Then it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t choosing jeans based on what I liked.
I was choosing them based on what I imagined everyone else might think.
And that’s a very different thing.
I’d love to tell you that, at that exact moment, I had some life-changing revelation, confidently bought the pair I loved and skipped out of the shop feeling like the main character in a movie.
I didn’t.
Instead, I stood there holding another pair of jeans, wondering when I’d become someone who needed permission from complete strangers I’d never even meet to live an authentic life.
That thought stayed with me long after I left the shop.
The Things Nobody Said
I’ve been thinking about that shopping trip ever since.
Not because I eventually found a pair of jeans that fitted perfectly. (I did, eventually, although I still maintain dressing room mirrors should come with some sort of warning label.)
It was because I realised I’d spent an extraordinary amount of time worrying about what complete strangers might think of me.
People I’d never met.
Those I’d almost certainly never see again.
People who, if I’m being completely honest, were probably far too busy wondering whether their jeans made their bottom look big to even notice mine.
It’s funny how our minds work, isn’t it?
Somewhere along the way, many of us become experts at imagining conversations that never actually happen.
“Am I too old to wear this?”
“Is this a bit too colourful?”
“Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”
The strange thing was, nobody had actually said any of those things to me.
Not one person.
I’d done all the talking myself.
The Quiet Voice We Listen To – Forgetting our authentic self
I read something fascinating a little while ago about authenticity. One psychologist suggested that one of our deepest human needs is something called autonomy. It’s a rather academic word for a beautifully simple idea. We all want to feel that we’re living our own authentic lives rather than constantly reacting to everyone else’s expectations.
The more I thought about it, the more I realised how often we quietly hand that freedom away without even noticing.
Not just with clothes.
With all sorts of things.
We choose the “sensible” hobby instead of the one that lights us up.
Reply yes to invitations when we’d secretly love a quiet night at home with a good book and an early bedtime.
We bite our tongue because disagreeing feels uncomfortable.
Sometimes we stay in jobs that no longer fit us, friendships we’ve quietly outgrown or routines we’ve stopped enjoying simply because they’ve become familiar.
None of it happens overnight.
It’s more like adding tiny layers over who we really are until, one day, we’re no longer sure whether the life we’re living was our choice or one we slowly drifted into.
Belonging Without Disappearing
I don’t think anybody sets out to stop being themselves.
In fact, I suspect the opposite is true.
Most of us simply want to belong.
Apparently our brains are wired that way. Thousands of years ago, being accepted by the tribe wasn’t just nice—it was how you survived. Being left out could literally be life or death. Perhaps that’s why, even now, all these years later, we still worry about fitting in, even if the “tribe” is just a handful of strangers wandering around a shopping centre on a Tuesday morning.
When you look at it like that, it all feels a little kinder.
Maybe there isn’t anything wrong with us at all.
Maybe we’re simply human.
The real challenge, I suppose, is noticing the difference between belonging and quietly disappearing.
Because they’re not the same thing.
And perhaps that’s what living an authentic life really is.
Not becoming someone new.
Simply giving yourself permission to be the person you’ve quietly been all along.
As for me?
Well… I have a feeling that next time I go shopping, I might just buy the colourful scarf.
