The “It’s Not Me, It’s You” Jeans: Breaking up with your (former) favorite pair of jeans
Breaking up with a beloved pair of jeans can feel like one of those classic, dramatic breakup scenes from a '90s or early 2000s rom-com—you know, the kind where the protagonist, with mascara smudged and a pile of tissues, delivers a tearful monologue about how they’ve “grown apart” from the person who once felt like their soulmate. Think Meg Ryan in “You've Got Mail” or Renée Zellweger in “Bridget Jones's Diary,” but instead of pining over a lost love, it’s the jeans that once fit perfectly but now, well… just don’t. It’s a cinematic moment of realization that the relationship isn’t what it used to be, and even though it feels like leaving a part of yourself behind, it’s time to move on.
This realization, though bittersweet, was yet another facet of what led me to start my own denim brand. The relationship with that favorite pair of jeans started off just like any great love story. There was the thrill of the chase—trying on countless pairs in store after store, each rejection more disheartening than the last, until finally, there they were. Perhaps they were tucked away on a clearance rack, an unassuming pair that, at first glance, didn’t seem like “the one.” But when I slipped them on, it was as if they were made just for me. They hugged my curves in all the right places, made me feel confident, stylish, and, let’s face it, a little bit sexy. Cue the montage of me strutting through life in these perfect jeans, paired with everything from a casual tee to a tailored blazer, ready to take on the world.
These jeans were with me through thick and thin—literally. They were my go-to for casual Fridays at the office, nights out with friends, lazy weekends, and maybe even a date or two. They were there for my victories, like acing that job interview, and my defeats, like the time I spilled coffee all over myself on the way to work. Through it all, they remained steadfast, never losing their shape or their place in my wardrobe. They were my sartorial soulmate.
But like all good rom-coms, there comes a point where the honeymoon phase ends, and reality sets in. It started with a little tug at the waistband that didn’t used to be there. Then a bit of discomfort after a big meal. The fabric, once soft and forgiving, started to feel more constricting, as if it was silently judging me for that second helping of dessert or those late-night snacks. Or maybe my tastes just simply evolved, and what once felt like the epitome of style now feels a bit, well, outdated. Suddenly, these jeans, once the source of so much joy, have become more of a burden.
I started to avoid wearing them, choosing other options in my wardrobe that didn’t come with the same emotional baggage. But every time I saw them, folded neatly on the shelf, I felt a pang of guilt. I remembered all the good times we shared, all the outfits they completed, all the compliments I received. I wasn’t ready to let go. It’s not that I’d stopped loving them—it’s just that I’m not the same person who bought them all those years ago.
This is where the rom-com parallel really kicks in. When Meg Ryan’s character in “You’ve Got Mail,” Kathleen Kelly, realizes that her small, independent bookstore, The Shop Around the Corner, can no longer compete with the big chain store that’s moved into the neighborhood. It’s heartbreaking, and there’s a sense of loss, but there’s also the recognition that things change, and that’s okay. Similarly, I recognized that my body, my style, my life had changed, and it was time to find a pair of jeans that reflected who I am now, not who I was back then.
The breaking point hit after one too many acrobatic attempts to squeeze into those jeans—no matter how much I shimmied, wiggled, or performed interpretive dance moves, that zipper wasn’t budging. I tried to convince myself that a few pounds lost or a couple of wear-and-stretch sessions would bring back the glory days. But deep down, I knew the truth: it was time to call it quits.
So there I was, in front of the mirror, jeans half-on, half-off, undies playing peek-a-boo, channeling Bridget Jones in that cringe-worthy bunny costume scene. I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride, and had the dreaded talk: “It’s not me, it’s you.” Alright, maybe it’s a little bit me, too, but mostly, it’s you. You’ve lost that spark, that magic that made me feel like I could take on the world. It’s time for me to move on.
Folding those jeans one last time and placing them in the donation pile with the rest of the clothes that no longer fit, felt like the end of an era. But as I stood there, half-naked and wondering who their next owner might be, an idea began to take shape. Maybe this breakup wasn’t just the end of a relationship—it was the start of something new.
I ventured out in search of a rebound pair, like swiping through Tinder, hoping for that instant connection. But each new pair left me more disappointed than the last, like a series of bad first dates. Then it hit me: What if, instead of endlessly hunting for the next perfect pair, I could create them? Jeans that fit not just my body but the bodies of countless others who’ve also felt the sting of outgrowing their favorites. What if I could design jeans that evolved with you, rather than judging you for evolving? And just like that, the idea for my brand was born—because who has time for another disappointing fitting room date?
Disclosed Denim wasn’t just about making jeans—it was about creating a relationship. I wanted to design denim that people could fall in love with, knowing that this time, the love would be reciprocated. These jeans wouldn’t just fit your body; they’d fit your life. They’d understand that bodies change, styles change, and life throws curveballs that no one sees coming. But through it all, your jeans should be there for you, ready to hug your curves and lift your spirits, not drag you down.
Starting Disclosed Denim was like starting a new chapter in a rom-com—exciting, nerve-wracking, and full of potential. There were challenges, of course—finding the right fabrics, nailing the perfect fit, ensuring that every pair was made sustainably and ethically. But every step of the way, I kept thinking about those old jeans and the lessons they taught me. I wanted to create a brand that would give people that same magical feeling of finding “the one,” without the heartbreak that sometimes comes with it.
And just like in every great rom-com, as one chapter closes, another one begins. There’s a thrill in the hunt, in trying on new styles, and in discovering that perfect pair that makes you feel like you can take on the world all over again. And when I find them, I’ll know that the breakup was worth it. I’ll realize that, like Kathleen Kelly and her independent bookstore, sometimes letting go of the past is the only way to make room for something even better in the future.
So here’s to the next pair of jeans—the ones that fit like a dream, that make me feel unstoppable, and that, someday, I’ll look back on with the same fondness and nostalgia as I do the ones I just said goodbye to. Because, in the end, it’s not just about the jeans—it’s about finding something that fits me, in every sense of the word. And now, I’m thrilled to be creating that perfect fit, not just for myself, but for everyone who’s ever had to say goodbye to a pair of jeans they once loved.