Nothing appeals to me more than the thought of encasing my loin fruits in a denim suction cup that fastens just below the ribcage. I slowly pull the 11-inch zipper up, savoring the lightweight delight of two halves of this delicious Levi’s sandwich merging into one, forming a perfectly sized love lock around my torso. I examine myself in the mirror. “Hey lady, did you swap butts with a young Brooke Shields or are you just wearing your favorite high-waist jeans?” a hologram of Ryan Gosling writes on the mirror, dipping his finger in the blood of my enemies.

I dress in chunky-heeled boots and a suede trench coat, and I’m around six feet tall. My thighs resemble two parallel infinity pools at a Tulum five-star spa. When I step out the door, I have the distinct impression that my lower half has taken on a new persona. They say we only use 10% of our brains, but I believe we only use 10% of our pelvic swagger as well. I’m pretty sure that covering yourself in stiff denim from head to toe is the secret to unlocking the remaining 90%. You are free to use my words.

I walk into the workplace. Someone tells me I’m glowing and asks if I got a facial (probably Yvonne, because she’s still looking at me). I give a sly smile and let my coat fall to the floor. When I walk over to my desk, my hips sway softly inside the boundaries of their sweet, sweet denim cocoon, the room falls silent.

I grab a break.

ANGER

No, no, and no. My solar plexus has been stabbed in the stomach. My uterus has disintegrated. The metal button on the top of my jeans is digging into my Pillsbury Doughboy tummy, causing a balloon-like semicircle of flesh to appear between my navel and freshly cleaved camel toe — right where young Brooke Shield used to be! What happened to that?

I take a step forward. It has returned!!!

I take another seat. DOUBLE FUDGE.

I consider how I’ll consume the contents of the large bowl of oatmeal I prepared for breakfast. Oatmeal isn’t going to fit in these pants. There’s barely enough space for me, a human child.

BARGAINING

I nervously scan the office, then unzip my high-waist jeans when I’m sure no one is looking. You know how you feel after a long day when you take a drink of red wine, jump into a hot shower after a workout, or dip your hand into a deep bag of uncooked rice? Yes, this is preferable to the sum of all those emotions.

I eat my oatmeal while slouching in my chair. It’s the best oatmeal I’ve ever had, possibly because my tastebuds and guts are in sync, and the feeling of liberation is infectious. How long before human resources (hi Matt!!!) arrests me for indecent exposure if I leave my pants unzipped? I look at the employee handbook at Man Repeller. It’s surprisingly ineffective.

I continue to revel in my abdominal bacchanalia for another hour before needing to use the restroom, which necessitates getting up and walking across the room. I might try to flee (unzipped), but that seems dangerous. My head is bowed, and my zipper is pinched.

My parents had to put a tent over my sister’s crib when she was a toddler because she kept escaping. She would scream “Nooooooooo” every night as they zipped up the tent. As I re-zipped my pants, my stomach did just that.

DEEP, UNWAVERING SORROW

For the next few hours, I’ll be in back-to-back meetings, which means more sitting and less chances to unzip. My waistband, aka the Circle Of Doom, is digging into me so deeply that I fear it’ll leave a permanent indentation — perfect for collecting cookie crumbs, bad for anything else. When I eventually get back to my desk, I look at my chair and try to laugh, but instead I break out in hives (classic mixup). I’m not able to stay in these jeans any longer.

I’m itching to get out of my skin. Instead, I take my laptop and lie down on the office sofa, which may or may not be fitting given that this is a workplace and not my personal high-waist jeans rehab boudoir, but the night is dark and full of terrors, and the prospect of staying perpendicular for one more bleeping second is terrifying.

I take over the couch for the rest of the day, brooding in silence except for a low, primitive moan of remorse every now and then.

ACCEPTANCE

I’ve never been more eager to get home and change. I can already see myself lighting a few candles, lying in bed naked from the waist down, and texting my roommate to bring me a sleeve of saltines like I’m some sort of invalid as I turn my key in the lock.

But, as my fingers approach the zipper.

I hesitate when I catch a glimpse of my lower half in my bedroom mirror.

I can’t help but think, “Is the unavoidable pain of soaking your waist in denim concrete worth the addictive gratification of feeling like your wardrobe and your birthday suit have never been better complemented?” in the words of Carrie Bradshaw.

“Wanna get drinks?” I text some friends.

These jeans are deserving of a few more hours in the spotlight. Flattery will get you a long way.

The post Wearing High-Waist Jeans – The Thought Process appeared first on Stain In Style.

During our quest for the best high-rise jeans, we kept hearing about one pair in particular: Levi’s Wedgie Straight Jeans. Bird creator Jennifer Mankins, Joyce Lee, the head of Madewell’s design team, and Dianna Cohen, the founder of hair-care line Crown Affair, all love them. The jeans, despite their name, don’t really give you a wedgie (at least not in a bad way) — 

When it comes to high-rise jeans, strategist writer Chloe Anello says she’s “really gotten into the straight-leg trend.” Specifically, this pair from DL1961, a sustainable denim brand. She describes them as “very comfortable” and “mold to your body after a few wears.” “They’re a little more streamlined than wide-leg or boyfriend jeans, so they look a little more polished, but they still have a lot of give and flexibility.” The jeans have a retro-inspired wash and a button fly to stick with the vintage vibe.

Men’s Wranglers Classic Cowboy straight leg jeans will “do the trick,” according to illustrator Pauline de Roussy de Sales, if you’re looking for a pair of stiff jeans that will finally break-in and become perfectly vintage-looking. Former-Strategist senior editor Simone Kitchen’s favorite slim-cut Wranglers have the same ‘70s deadstock denim style as the jeans.

If you’re looking for a high-rise jean with a slimmer leg, try this pair, which designer Mary Young describes as “a match made in heaven” when she tried them on. “The high rise sits perfectly without any gapping at the back and comes in various inseams, which is a big blessing for me, who stands my tallest at 5’2,” Young, who is on the petite side, says of the suit. Despite the fact that they’re more expensive, Young insists they’re worth it: “I’ve been wearing them nonstop for three years and they don’t show it,” she says.

“I’ve been wearing high-waisted pants since high school, and they’re difficult to find,” says Diana McCorry, a journalist. “Every brand seems to suit differently, and some are absolutely abominable, so once I find a good fit, I like to stock up. Levi’s 720s are my personal favourites. There’s just enough stretch to prevent tummy compression but just enough shape to 

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