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While sitting in a waiting room recently, I glanced at the woman to my left, noticed her knee-torn boyfriend jeans with slightly shredded hems, and thought, “Oh no, it’s happening again.”
You might expect me to embrace the return of 90s fashion trends that have been filling the stores these past couple of years. And I do welcome back lug soles, chokers, flannel (of course), and even the jeans that my neighbor was donning.
But . . . the jeans are problematic. I can’t pull them off. And I’ve known that for decades.
Let’s dive in: Around the age of 11 or 12, I had the first of several growth spurts. I shot up into the atmosphere just after kids tossed their tapered jeans and leggings in exchange for hip-slung, roughed-up denim. Everyone’s jeans were long. Dragging-on-the-floor long. Shoes were barely visible.
I vividly remember glancing around my 6th grade math class, my eyes darting from one section of floor to another, observing that when most girls sat down at their desks, their jeans still covered the tops of their shoes.
I would then bend sideways, turning my body into an awkward “C” shape (and drawing unwanted attention to myself), and glance under my desk at my own situation. Not good. My jeans hiked up as soon as I engaged a slight bend of knee; by the time I was seated, the hems were halfway up my shins. My socks were visible for all to see. Other people wore socks too, of course – but come on, no one saw anyone else’s socks!
At first, I thought I had a solution that would allow me to execute the trend: I’d just wear larger pants sizes. But that effort quickly failed. Bigger jeans were way too large for my frame. I’d have had to wear suspenders to keep them up, which is probably the one thing that would have been worse than my too-short pants.
New idea: I asked the other girls in class where they got their jeans. I thought, “Maybe I’m just shopping in the wrong stores.” Their answers were always one of three places:
- Havana Jeans, a local store with a super-cool vintage vibe . . . that my mom was not down with;
- Urban Outfitters in NYC, where I wasn’t allowed to go on my own; or
- The Delia’s Catalog.
The Delia’s catalog? What was that? It had the ring of possibility. Maybe I too could obtain long pants if gained access to this mysterious catalog. I can’t recall the details of how I got my hands on one, but I vaguely remember dialing a toll-free number and requesting that it be mailed to me. Now I was getting somewhere.
Some quick background: Delia’s was a clothing company that showed up in the early 90s. To my knowledge, they only sold through a catalog back then, although they eventually transitioned to e-commerce. The brand label is still available today through a different company.[1]
Anyway, my own copy of the coveted catalog soon arrived, and flipping through it was like discovering a lost treasure that I didn’t even know I was hunting.[2] First of all, the models in the catalog looked like the kind of girl I wanted to be – sure of herself and respected, cool without trying. Second, the clothing reflected the kind of style I wanted to adopt as my own. I drooled over pages of sweaters in bright colors that managed to shed the preppy vibe of brands like the Gap or Benetton. The chunky-soled boots and skater sneakers spoke to me. And, most importantly, Delia’s had long pants – or, at least, they looked long on the models. I was sold!
But alas, this was the 90s, and returning mail order goods was an absolute nightmare.[3] It was hard enough to find the right fit in stores, where I could try things on. I couldn’t risk getting the size wrong and having to figure out how to get it back to the company. And even though the pants looked long, there was more than a decent chance that they’d still be too short. After all, those girls who’d told me they got their pants from Delia’s? They were just shy of a full foot shorter than me.
This was so disappointing. I loved those wide-legged jeans with contrast stitching. I dug that black sweater with bands of primary colors. But who was I kidding? The jeans would ride up, and the sweater sleeves wouldn’t even reach my wrists. I was mad at myself for even requesting the catalog. It only made my conclusion sting all the more: I was too tall for Delia’s. On it went to the list of the many teen brands that were too skimpy for me before I was even thirteen.
So yeah, let’s get back to the 2021 waiting room. You know – the period when I’m an adult and can ignore trends in favor of what looks good on me. Whatever. Hopefully it’s now clear why I have such mixed feelings about the return of 90s jeans. But don’t worry, friends! My past denim saga is not going to stop me from going for it – again. The fashion is too good for me to resist, and I believe I was born to chase this dream. So, New Yorkers, pay attention as you walk around the city this season: If you notice a 6-foot woman guzzling a Pepsi while humming a Wilson Phillips tune and sporting 90s chic denim two sizes too short, come say hi.[4]
[1] You can check out Delia’s latest threads here: dELiA*s 90’s clothing, shoes, and accessories | Dolls Kill.
[2] If you’re curious about what I saw, you can see examples here: dELiA*s catalogs (tumblr.com) Also, Fast Company did a great article explaining the success of the catalog: The rise and fall of Delia’s, the catalog that ruled America (fastcompany.com)
[3] Honestly, returning stuff by mail still annoys me.
[4] Shout out to my friend Ali for prompting this post.