(Unofficial) Denim  
PERSONALITIES
 
 
Are you perennially in an identity crisis, like Skinny Jean, or tragically misunderstood, like Flare? Moda’s resident humorist, Rachel Hodin, delivers an amusing series of fictional fashion portraits laced with historical facts. 


(Unofficial) Denim  
PERSONALITIES
 
 
Are you perennially in an identity crisis, like Skinny Jean, or tragically misunderstood, like Flare? Moda’s resident humorist, Rachel Hodin, delivers an amusing series of fictional fashion portraits laced with historical facts. 


(Unofficial) 
Denim 
Personalities
 
 
Are you perennially in an identity crisis, like Skinny Jean, or tragically misunderstood, like Flare? Moda’s resident humorist, Rachel Hodin, delivers an amusing series of fictional fashion portraits laced with historical facts. 


 


(Unofficial) 
Denim 
Personalities
 
 
Are you perennially in an identity crisis, like Skinny Jean, or tragically misunderstood, like Flare? Moda’s resident humorist, Rachel Hodin, delivers an amusing series of fictional fashion portraits laced with historical facts. 


 


SKINNY Jean
   
 
Skinny Jean has evolved quite a bit from her roots. Roots which she uncovered after heedlessly taking the advice of a coworker and trying 23andMe—which confirmed, much to her distress, that one of her earliest predecessors is indeed the pantaloon. Skinny vaguely remembers her aunt saying something about it on her deathbed, but figured it was the morphine talking.
Woman wearing skinny jeans

SKINNY Jean
   
 
Skinny Jean has evolved quite a bit from her roots. Roots which she uncovered after heedlessly taking the advice of a coworker and trying 23andMe—which confirmed, much to her distress, that one of her earliest predecessors is indeed the pantaloon. Skinny vaguely remembers her aunt saying something about it on her deathbed, but figured it was the morphine talking.
In a bid to distract from her origin story, Skinny turned herself into a chameleonic master of reinvention. It’s actually pretty impressive, to go from pantaloons to penning lyrical ballads alongside Bob Dylan (she swears she was the inspiration for “Tangled Up in Blue”). But it’s also made for quite the rocky trajectory. Her most recent fall from grace came swiftly and mercilessly in 2010 in the form of the jegging. (If you thought that was a hard one to watch, imagine having to BE it.) As one might expect, the jegging saga really took its toll. Sufficiently burnt out, she made like Lindsay Lohan in July 2006, and checked into the hospital for exhaustion.
 
For a second, people thought she was gone for good. But then she hired the millennial branding agency BossLADY and reemerged as a self-proclaimed “modern-day corset,” devoid of all stretch and JUST short of cutting off circulation at the crotch. She’s steadily climbed her way back up to the top, and is once again riding high, often found sitting atop her daybed, with a green juice in hand, feigning comfort with the performative ease of a young Meryl Streep (something she, inexplicably, has been able to keep up throughout quarantine).
 
In a bid to distract from her origin story, Skinny turned herself into a chameleonic master of reinvention. It’s actually pretty impressive, to go from pantaloons to penning lyrical ballads alongside Bob Dylan (she swears she was the inspiration for “Tangled Up in Blue”). But it’s also made for quite the rocky trajectory. Her most recent fall from grace came swiftly and mercilessly in 2010 in the form of the jegging. (If you thought that was a hard one to watch, imagine having to BE it.) As one might expect, the jegging saga really took its toll. Sufficiently burnt out, she made like Lindsay Lohan in July 2006, and checked into the hospital for exhaustion.
 
For a second, people thought she was gone for good. But then she hired the millennial branding agency BossLADY and reemerged as a self-proclaimed “modern-day corset,” devoid of all stretch and JUST short of cutting off circulation at the crotch. She’s steadily climbed her way back up to the top, and is once again riding high, often found sitting atop her daybed, with a green juice in hand, feigning comfort with the performative ease of a young Meryl Streep (something she, inexplicably, has been able to keep up throughout quarantine).
 

SKINNY Jean
 
 
Skinny Jean has evolved quite a bit from her roots. Roots which she uncovered after heedlessly taking the advice of a coworker and trying 23andMe—which confirmed, much to her distress, that one of her earliest predecessors is indeed the pantaloon. Skinny vaguely remembers her aunt saying something about it on her deathbed, but figured it was the morphine talking.

SKINNY Jean
 
 
Skinny Jean has evolved quite a bit from her roots. Roots which she uncovered after heedlessly taking the advice of a coworker and trying 23andMe—which confirmed, much to her distress, that one of her earliest predecessors is indeed the pantaloon. Skinny vaguely remembers her aunt saying something about it on her deathbed, but figured it was the morphine talking.
Editorial Image
In a bid to distract from her origin story, Skinny turned herself into a chameleonic master of reinvention. It’s actually pretty impressive, to go from pantaloons to penning lyrical ballads alongside Bob Dylan (she swears she was the inspiration for “Tangled Up in Blue”). But it’s also made for quite the rocky trajectory. Her most recent fall from grace came swiftly and mercilessly in 2010 in the form of the jegging. (If you thought that was a hard one to watch, imagine having to BE it.) As one might expect, the jegging saga really took its toll. Sufficiently burnt out, she made like Lindsay Lohan in July 2006, and checked into the hospital for exhaustion.
 
For a second, people thought she was gone for good. But then she hired the millennial branding agency BossLADY and reemerged as a self-proclaimed “modern-day corset,” devoid of all stretch and JUST short of cutting off circulation at the crotch. She’s steadily climbed her way back up to the top, and is once again riding high, often found sitting atop her daybed, with a green juice in hand, feigning comfort with the performative ease of a young Meryl Streep (something she, inexplicably, has been able to keep up throughout quarantine).

In a bid to distract from her origin story, Skinny turned herself into a chameleonic master of reinvention. It’s actually pretty impressive, to go from pantaloons to penning lyrical ballads alongside Bob Dylan (she swears she was the inspiration for “Tangled Up in Blue”). But it’s also made for quite the rocky trajectory. Her most recent fall from grace came swiftly and mercilessly in 2010 in the form of the jegging. (If you thought that was a hard one to watch, imagine having to BE it.) As one might expect, the jegging saga really took its toll. Sufficiently burnt out, she made like Lindsay Lohan in July 2006, and checked into the hospital for exhaustion.
 
For a second, people thought she was gone for good. But then she hired the millennial branding agency BossLADY and reemerged as a self-proclaimed “modern-day corset,” devoid of all stretch and JUST short of cutting off circulation at the crotch. She’s steadily climbed her way back up to the top, and is once again riding high, often found sitting atop her daybed, with a green juice in hand, feigning comfort with the performative ease of a young Meryl Streep (something she, inexplicably, has been able to keep up throughout quarantine).


FLARE
   
 
Back in grade school, Flare was always the last to be invited to everything—that’s if she was even invited at all. Taking her out was a drag—literally. But it’s not like poor Flare could help it; biologically, she widens at the bottom. Which, in the context of natural selection, actually puts her at an advantage (albeit a niche one). You see, her trombone-esque physique offers a key survival mechanism: originally created for sailors, the widened hems made it easier to scoop out a man from sea if he were to fall overboard. Has she tried to explain her fascinating history? Of course. But no one cares about a fallen sailor of yore; they just write her off as inherently impractical. Oh, the irony!
Woman wearing flare jeans

FLARE
   
 
Back in grade school, Flare was always the last to be invited to everything—that’s if she was even invited at all. Taking her out was a drag—literally. But it’s not like poor Flare could help it; biologically, she widens at the bottom. Which, in the context of natural selection, actually puts her at an advantage (albeit a niche one). You see, her trombone-esque physique offers a key survival mechanism: originally created for sailors, the widened hems made it easier to scoop out a man from sea if he were to fall overboard. Has she tried to explain her fascinating history? Of course. But no one cares about a fallen sailor of yore; they just write her off as inherently impractical. Oh, the irony!
Even the anti-establishment—Flare’s so-called comrades—refuse to acknowledge her intrinsically practical nature. But that never stopped her from saving them from, well, themselves. With the Stones, who was ALWAYS the designated driver, hmm? And who was there for Jimi, time and again, just trying to get him to take one “me” day? (Hendrix, that is.) The only musicians who really got her—who, dare she say, let her live as her true self—were ABBA. In fact, they got so close that the band even let Flare try her hand at songwriting. Few know this, but Flare actually wrote the lyrics to “SOS”—based on a true story. 
Even the anti-establishment—Flare’s so-called comrades—refuse to acknowledge her intrinsically practical nature. But that never stopped her from saving them from, well, themselves. With the Stones, who was ALWAYS the designated driver, hmm? And who was there for Jimi, time and again, just trying to get him to take one “me” day? (Hendrix, that is.) The only musicians who really got her—who, dare she say, let her live as her true self—were ABBA. In fact, they got so close that the band even let Flare try her hand at songwriting. Few know this, but Flare actually wrote the lyrics to “SOS”—based on a true story. 
FLARE
 
 
Back in grade school, Flare was always the last to be invited to everything—that’s if she was even invited at all. Taking her out was a drag—literally. But it’s not like poor Flare could help it; biologically, she widens at the bottom. Which, in the context of natural selection, actually puts her at an advantage (albeit a niche one). You see, her trombone-esque physique offers a key survival mechanism: originally created for sailors, the widened hems made it easier to scoop out a man from sea if he were to fall overboard. Has she tried to explain her fascinating history? Of course. But no one cares about a fallen sailor of yore; they just write her off as inherently impractical. Oh, the irony!
FLARE
 
 
Back in grade school, Flare was always the last to be invited to everything—that’s if she was even invited at all. Taking her out was a drag—literally. But it’s not like poor Flare could help it; biologically, she widens at the bottom. Which, in the context of natural selection, actually puts her at an advantage (albeit a niche one). You see, her trombone-esque physique offers a key survival mechanism: originally created for sailors, the widened hems made it easier to scoop out a man from sea if he were to fall overboard. Has she tried to explain her fascinating history? Of course. But no one cares about a fallen sailor of yore; they just write her off as inherently impractical. Oh, the irony!
Editorial Image
Even the anti-establishment—Flare’s so-called comrades—refuse to acknowledge her intrinsically practical nature. But that never stopped her from saving them from, well, themselves. With the Stones, who was ALWAYS the designated driver, hmm? And who was there for Jimi, time and again, just trying to get him to take one “me” day? (Hendrix, that is.) The only musicians who really got her—who, dare she say, let her live as her true self—were ABBA. In fact, they got so close that the band even let Flare try her hand at songwriting. Few know this, but Flare actually wrote the lyrics to “SOS”—based on a true story.
Even the anti-establishment—Flare’s so-called comrades—refuse to acknowledge her intrinsically practical nature. But that never stopped her from saving them from, well, themselves. With the Stones, who was ALWAYS the designated driver, hmm? And who was there for Jimi, time and again, just trying to get him to take one “me” day? (Hendrix, that is.) The only musicians who really got her—who, dare she say, let her live as her true self—were ABBA. In fact, they got so close that the band even let Flare try her hand at songwriting. Few know this, but Flare actually wrote the lyrics to “SOS”—based on a true story.

STRAIGHT LEG
   
 
Contrary to what you might think, Straight Leg is not very straightforward. She’s actually incredibly complicated—layered, is her preferred term—with a mighty long history and all the emotional baggage to prove it. 
Woman wearing straight leg jeans

STRAIGHT LEG
   
 
Contrary to what you might think, Straight Leg is not very straightforward. She’s actually incredibly complicated—layered, is her preferred term—with a mighty long history and all the emotional baggage to prove it. 
Technically, she WAS the first. It was 1873, San Francisco. Levi Strauss himself christened her “501,” the first-ever patented jeans. For a while, she was the one and only, and fully ensconced in only-child heaven. But by the mid-1900s, the copies started flooding in, effectively propelling her into the mainstream and whittling away her sense of self. Who am I? She often wondered aloud. Wistful curiosity soon crystallized into anger and that’s when Straight Leg decided that, if she was going to find out, she needed to test some boundaries. To hell with her curfew—she’d stay out as late as she wanted. She smoked two packs of Reds a day. Soon, she was raising one eyebrow, menacingly, if anyone looked at her askance. She even started wearing a leather jacket and hanging out with people by the pier. “The rebel” they called her (though, as a few observed, oftentimes “without even a cause!”). By the ‘70s, she was a bona fide punk with a spiked green mohawk (rumor has it she was even at the frontlines when the Wall fell in Berlin). And then things sort of went quiet.
 
We checked in on her recently—in Westchester, NY, where it appears she’s fully embraced the Straight Leg lifestyle she once wholly rejected. She's even changed her name to Straight Leg on her driver’s license. That’s not to say she isn’t nostalgic for her rebellious years. Sometimes, while looking through her wardrobe, her daughter will spot a telling relic. A dog collar, perhaps. Or one of those piercing chains that connects from your nose to your ear. When that happens, Straight Leg offers a mysterious smirk and, with a knowing wink, says “ah, now that’s a story for another time…”
Technically, she WAS the first. It was 1873, San Francisco. Levi Strauss himself christened her “501,” the first-ever patented jeans. For a while, she was the one and only, and fully ensconced in only-child heaven. But by the mid-1900s, the copies started flooding in, effectively propelling her into the mainstream and whittling away her sense of self. Who am I? She often wondered aloud. Wistful curiosity soon crystallized into anger and that’s when Straight Leg decided that, if she was going to find out, she needed to test some boundaries. To hell with her curfew—she’d stay out as late as she wanted. She smoked two packs of Reds a day. Soon, she was raising one eyebrow, menacingly, if anyone looked at her askance. She even started wearing a leather jacket and hanging out with people by the pier. “The rebel” they called her (though, as a few observed, oftentimes “without even a cause!”). By the ‘70s, she was a bona fide punk with a spiked green mohawk (rumor has it she was even at the frontlines when the Wall fell in Berlin). And then things sort of went quiet.
 
We checked in on her recently—in Westchester, NY, where it appears she’s fully embraced the Straight Leg lifestyle she once wholly rejected. She's even changed her name to Straight Leg on her driver’s license. That’s not to say she isn’t nostalgic for her rebellious years. Sometimes, while looking through her wardrobe, her daughter will spot a telling relic. A dog collar, perhaps. Or one of those piercing chains that connects from your nose to your ear. When that happens, Straight Leg offers a mysterious smirk and, with a knowing wink, says “ah, now that’s a story for another time…”
STRAIGHT LEG
   
 
Contrary to what you might think, Straight Leg is not very straightforward. She’s actually incredibly complicated—layered, is her preferred term—with a mighty long history and all the emotional baggage to prove it. 
STRAIGHT LEG
   
 
Contrary to what you might think, Straight Leg is not very straightforward. She’s actually incredibly complicated—layered, is her preferred term—with a mighty long history and all the emotional baggage to prove it. 
Editorial Image
Technically, she WAS the first. It was 1873, San Francisco. Levi Strauss himself christened her “501,” the first-ever patented jeans. For a while, she was the one and only, and fully ensconced in only-child heaven. But by the mid-1900s, the copies started flooding in, effectively propelling her into the mainstream and whittling away her sense of self. Who am I? She often wondered aloud. Wistful curiosity soon crystallized into anger and that’s when Straight Leg decided that, if she was going to find out, she needed to test some boundaries. To hell with her curfew—she’d stay out as late as she wanted. She smoked two packs of Reds a day. Soon, she was raising one eyebrow, menacingly, if anyone looked at her askance. She even started wearing a leather jacket and hanging out with people by the pier. “The rebel” they called her (though, as a few observed, oftentimes “without even a cause!”). By the ‘70s, she was a bona fide punk with a spiked green mohawk (rumor has it she was even at the frontlines when the Wall fell in Berlin). And then things sort of went quiet.
 
We checked in on her recently—in Westchester, NY, where it appears she’s fully embraced the Straight Leg lifestyle she once wholly rejected. She's even changed her name to Straight Leg on her driver’s license. That’s not to say she isn’t nostalgic for her rebellious years. Sometimes, while looking through her wardrobe, her daughter will spot a telling relic. A dog collar, perhaps. Or one of those piercing chains that connects from your nose to your ear. When that happens, Straight Leg offers a mysterious smirk and, with a knowing wink, says “ah, now that’s a story for another time…”
Technically, she WAS the first. It was 1873, San Francisco. Levi Strauss himself christened her “501,” the first-ever patented jeans. For a while, she was the one and only, and fully ensconced in only-child heaven. But by the mid-1900s, the copies started flooding in, effectively propelling her into the mainstream and whittling away her sense of self. Who am I? She often wondered aloud. Wistful curiosity soon crystallized into anger and that’s when Straight Leg decided that, if she was going to find out, she needed to test some boundaries. To hell with her curfew—she’d stay out as late as she wanted. She smoked two packs of Reds a day. Soon, she was raising one eyebrow, menacingly, if anyone looked at her askance. She even started wearing a leather jacket and hanging out with people by the pier. “The rebel” they called her (though, as a few observed, oftentimes “without even a cause!”). By the ‘70s, she was a bona fide punk with a spiked green mohawk (rumor has it she was even at the frontlines when the Wall fell in Berlin). And then things sort of went quiet.
 
We checked in on her recently—in Westchester, NY, where it appears she’s fully embraced the Straight Leg lifestyle she once wholly rejected. She's even changed her name to Straight Leg on her driver’s license. That’s not to say she isn’t nostalgic for her rebellious years. Sometimes, while looking through her wardrobe, her daughter will spot a telling relic. A dog collar, perhaps. Or one of those piercing chains that connects from your nose to your ear. When that happens, Straight Leg offers a mysterious smirk and, with a knowing wink, says “ah, now that’s a story for another time…”

JUMPSUIT
   
 
To say she came in with a bang would be a gross understatement. Jumpsuit, quite literally, came from the sky, parachuting her way from planes in the early 20th century like sartorial Manna From Heaven. When World War I came along, she discovered her true calling: feminism (under the guise of a boilersuit). “Remember, I’m a symbol—not just a silhouette” was what she’d tell the Vogue editors back then, before turning on her heel and marching into the factories that were now filled with women. That’s where she met Rosie (The Riveter). 
  
Woman wearing a denim jumpsuit

JUMPSUIT
   
 
To say she came in with a bang would be a gross understatement. Jumpsuit, quite literally, came from the sky, parachuting her way from planes in the early 20th century like sartorial Manna From Heaven. When World War I came along, she discovered her true calling: feminism (under the guise of a boilersuit). “Remember, I’m a symbol—not just a silhouette” was what she’d tell the Vogue editors back then, before turning on her heel and marching into the factories that were now filled with women. That’s where she met Rosie (The Riveter). 
  
I’d like to say “the rest is history” but that would be ignoring her miraculous transition from Blue Collar life to bespangled glamour. It wasn’t an easy transition, and one that first required a shape shift (we hear she lost over 20 pounds) and then a lot of finagling her way to the front of Jerry Hall and Grace Jones’s wardrobes. Safely shellacked onto the divas and darlings of the disco era, Jumpsuit was finally able to blag her way into Studio 54. Naturally, once she was in, everyone wanted a piece of her. She flourished.
 
In fact, that’s how she landed her seminal role in "Saturday Night Fever." To this day, she’ll tell you, she reigned supreme as the dancing queen. The only thing she’s never quite been able to figure out is how to pee in a timely manner. Fabulous though she may be, she will always, inevitably, hold up the line to the bathroom. 
  
Woman wearing a denim jumpsuit
I’d like to say “the rest is history” but that would be ignoring her miraculous transition from Blue Collar life to bespangled glamour. It wasn’t an easy transition, and one that first required a shape shift (we hear she lost over 20 pounds) and then a lot of finagling her way to the front of Jerry Hall and Grace Jones’s wardrobes. Safely shellacked onto the divas and darlings of the disco era, Jumpsuit was finally able to blag her way into Studio 54. Naturally, once she was in, everyone wanted a piece of her. She flourished.
 
In fact, that’s how she landed her seminal role in "Saturday Night Fever." To this day, she’ll tell you, she reigned supreme as the dancing queen. The only thing she’s never quite been able to figure out is how to pee in a timely manner. Fabulous though she may be, she will always, inevitably, hold up the line to the bathroom. 
  

JUMPSUIT
 
 
To say she came in with a bang would be a gross understatement. Jumpsuit, quite literally, came from the sky, parachuting her way from planes in the early 20th century like sartorial Manna From Heaven. When World War I came along, she discovered her true calling: feminism (under the guise of a boilersuit). “Remember, I’m a symbol—not just a silhouette” was what she’d tell the Vogue editors back then, before turning on her heel and marching into the factories that were now filled with women. That’s where she met Rosie (The Riveter).

JUMPSUIT
 
 
To say she came in with a bang would be a gross understatement. Jumpsuit, quite literally, came from the sky, parachuting her way from planes in the early 20th century like sartorial Manna From Heaven. When World War I came along, she discovered her true calling: feminism (under the guise of a boilersuit). “Remember, I’m a symbol—not just a silhouette” was what she’d tell the Vogue editors back then, before turning on her heel and marching into the factories that were now filled with women. That’s where she met Rosie (The Riveter).
Editorial Image
I’d like to say “the rest is history” but that would be ignoring her miraculous transition from Blue Collar life to bespangled glamour. It wasn’t an easy transition, and one that first required a shape shift (we hear she lost over 20 pounds) and then a lot of finagling her way to the front of Jerry Hall and Grace Jones’s wardrobes. Safely shellacked onto the divas and darlings of the disco era, Jumpsuit was finally able to blag her way into Studio 54. Naturally, once she was in, everyone wanted a piece of her. She flourished.
 
In fact, that’s how she landed her seminal role in "Saturday Night Fever." To this day, she’ll tell you, she reigned supreme as the dancing queen. The only thing she’s never quite been able to figure out is how to pee in a timely manner. Fabulous though she may be, she will always, inevitably, hold up the line to the bathroom. 
 

I’d like to say “the rest is history” but that would be ignoring her miraculous transition from Blue Collar life to bespangled glamour. It wasn’t an easy transition, and one that first required a shape shift (we hear she lost over 20 pounds) and then a lot of finagling her way to the front of Jerry Hall and Grace Jones’s wardrobes. Safely shellacked onto the divas and darlings of the disco era, Jumpsuit was finally able to blag her way into Studio 54. Naturally, once she was in, everyone wanted a piece of her. She flourished.
 
In fact, that’s how she landed her seminal role in "Saturday Night Fever." To this day, she’ll tell you, she reigned supreme as the dancing queen. The only thing she’s never quite been able to figure out is how to pee in a timely manner. Fabulous though she may be, she will always, inevitably, hold up the line to the bathroom. 
 

Editorial Image

MOM Jean
   
 
There are some things—like off-brand Oreos and the SPAM folder—that the world would simply be better off without. Enter: Mom Jean. An unfortunate relic of the ‘80s, Mom Jean—in her original, bum-flattening, widening AND -elongating (not to mention FUPA-enhancing) form—also remains something of a mystery. How she managed to appeal to so many moms, all over the world, at the same time is something scientists to this day are still trying to figure out.
Woman wearing mom jeans

MOM Jean
   
 
There are some things—like off-brand Oreos and the SPAM folder—that the world would simply be better off without. Enter: Mom Jean. An unfortunate relic of the ‘80s, Mom Jean—in her original, bum-flattening, widening AND -elongating (not to mention FUPA-enhancing) form—also remains something of a mystery. How she managed to appeal to so many moms, all over the world, at the same time is something scientists to this day are still trying to figure out.
And for a second there she did seem to be on her way out—or at least going the way of Jerry Seinfeld. But then hipster culture happened, and Mom Jean of the ‘80s started making her way out of musty vintage stores and into the luxuriously eaux-de-mildew-scented, upcycled abodes of Brooklyn’s used bookstore owners and purveyors of artisanal beer. From there, she was carefully nipped and tucked in all the right places and suddenly emerged, against all odds, as an exceptionally flattering, bum-enhancing phenomenon. First, on Bushwick finger painters, sitting beneath an innocuous cropped top and mini backpack—and always with her trusty partner-in-crime, Brown Vintage Belt. And then, remarkably, on just about every Jenner, Kardashian, and Hadid on this side of the Atlantic.  
And for a second there she did seem to be on her way out—or at least going the way of Jerry Seinfeld. But then hipster culture happened, and Mom Jean of the ‘80s started making her way out of musty vintage stores and into the luxuriously eaux-de-mildew-scented, upcycled abodes of Brooklyn’s used bookstore owners and purveyors of artisanal beer. From there, she was carefully nipped and tucked in all the right places and suddenly emerged, against all odds, as an exceptionally flattering, bum-enhancing phenomenon. First, on Bushwick finger painters, sitting beneath an innocuous cropped top and mini backpack—and always with her trusty partner-in-crime, Brown Vintage Belt. And then, remarkably, on just about every Jenner, Kardashian, and Hadid on this side of the Atlantic.  

MOM Jean
 
 
There are some things—like off-brand Oreos and the SPAM folder—that the world would simply be better off without. Enter: Mom Jean. An unfortunate relic of the ‘80s, Mom Jean—in her original, bum-flattening, widening AND -elongating (not to mention FUPA-enhancing) form—also remains something of a mystery. How she managed to appeal to so many moms, all over the world, at the same time is something scientists to this day are still trying to figure out.

MOM Jean
 
 
There are some things—like off-brand Oreos and the SPAM folder—that the world would simply be better off without. Enter: Mom Jean. An unfortunate relic of the ‘80s, Mom Jean—in her original, bum-flattening, widening AND -elongating (not to mention FUPA-enhancing) form—also remains something of a mystery. How she managed to appeal to so many moms, all over the world, at the same time is something scientists to this day are still trying to figure out.
Editorial Image
And for a second there she did seem to be on her way out—or at least going the way of Jerry Seinfeld. But then hipster culture happened, and Mom Jean of the ‘80s started making her way out of musty vintage stores and into the luxuriously eaux-de-mildew-scented, upcycled abodes of Brooklyn’s used bookstore owners and purveyors of artisanal beer. From there, she was carefully nipped and tucked in all the right places and suddenly emerged, against all odds, as an exceptionally flattering, bum-enhancing phenomenon. First, on Bushwick finger painters, sitting beneath an innocuous cropped top and mini backpack—and always with her trusty partner-in-crime, Brown Vintage Belt. And then, remarkably, on just about every Jenner, Kardashian, and Hadid on this side of the Atlantic.  

And for a second there she did seem to be on her way out—or at least going the way of Jerry Seinfeld. But then hipster culture happened, and Mom Jean of the ‘80s started making her way out of musty vintage stores and into the luxuriously eaux-de-mildew-scented, upcycled abodes of Brooklyn’s used bookstore owners and purveyors of artisanal beer. From there, she was carefully nipped and tucked in all the right places and suddenly emerged, against all odds, as an exceptionally flattering, bum-enhancing phenomenon. First, on Bushwick finger painters, sitting beneath an innocuous cropped top and mini backpack—and always with her trusty partner-in-crime, Brown Vintage Belt. And then, remarkably, on just about every Jenner, Kardashian, and Hadid on this side of the Atlantic.