Blue Jean Baby

As most of you probably don't know, although perhaps some of you do, I have recently found myself spending innumerable hours contemplating the significance of our trusted and loyal friend denim. This new found fascination can be blamed, in the most part, on my recently embarked upon quest in understanding the nostalgic and functional relationships we form with our clothing in the hope of uncovering meaningful new strategies for our cotton clad futures (otherwise known as my fourth year project).
I feel I can confidently say without hesitation that denim, in some shape or form, has definitely been a part of all of our lives, whether it be that first pair of teenage skin tight hipsters, or maybe more fittingly that trusted travel companion emblazoned with memories from abroad. Every pair of jeans has a story - it would be really super if you'd like to share yours with me...

These bad boys have been kicking around with me for the past year. I guess if I'm to be honest with myself, we're still in the honeymoon phase, that being said, I have a sneaking suspicion that they may in fact be 'the one'. I remember the day we first lay eyes on each other, I had just taken up residency as official bar maid in a dingy inner west watering hole, the price tag said no, but the fit said yes and a few graveyard shifts later they were finally within my reach. Primarily, they would serve as my working trousers, filling me with confidence and pride as I hauled crates of longnecks up that staircase from the basement. Our love had been cemented.  I soon realized that these jeans deserved a better life. As emotions for each other grew deeper these fancy black trousers became my uniform for university, my uniform for weekends, my uniform for life. These jeans grazed my ankles, unfazed by my lack of footwear, on the first day I tasted the irresistible fish burgers of Clovelly's 'Out of the Blue', these jeans protected my lower half the evening I heroically mounted the bar in attempt to remove my female assassin,  these jeans were by my side during my first day at my new job, and these jeans stained my legs (mostly thanks to the rain) the day my good for nothing boyfriend decided to cut me loose.
On reflection I feel as though I should apologize for being unable to titalize you with one specific denim memory, but the truth is that these jeans have been there for it all. They are the one object in my life that I would genuinely struggle to live without, through thick and thin, sun and rain, beer and popcorn they have been companion, protection, and sometimes, in my finest hours, even pajamas.

I would really love if anyone has a gem of a denim memory they'd care to share with me, bonus points for photos!