Jeans? - by Andres F. Arevalo Zea

Jeans?

by Andres F. Arevalo Zea

I don’t know Jean, I kinda hate jeans. I mean, sometimes my mother forces me to buy a pair, but I don’t like wearing them. They’re tight and uncomfortable and often itchy. They’re so annoying to put on, and so annoying to take off. Jeans aren’t made for people with bellies like mine. They hurt my stomach like when my mother tells me to wear less so they can fit, When I get home drunk and don’t have the energy to take them off, I have to sleep in them like a dog on a leash, struggling to find comfort. The first time I slept. with a girl she was wearing this dark Levi jeans while we kissed all over and it just took forever to get them off. I don’t know, they’re just so inconvenient. I remember every single time my father told me I should wear jeans, so we could appear more ‘decent,’ so people would not know we were running out of money. I remember when denim was a static dream that lived in movies and shows, from a faraway land that we could never belong to. Our place is with the ponchos, and ruanas, and the 50 pesos shirts with texts in languages we don’t even understand, sewn by abuelas. I guess I just wonder when we decided to move to overprices, ugly pants manufactured in countries we don’t know by exploited, underage kids polluting their homes. I don’t know Jean, I think it all comes down to the fact that I’ll never understand why people would design pants that don’t allow you to scratch your ass properly.