Today, I feel like it’s time to tell you all a story about a little-known denim shirt. It’s a very special denim shirt, hence being worthy of it’s own tale. Ever since I’ve known my boy, he’s been the owner of said very-special-denim-shirt (and I happen to know he’s been in a relationship with that shirt much longer than he has with me). Now, I could legitimately be jealous of the shirt for that reason, but the shirt is too special to inspire any such inner jealousy. Rather, I am just as glad that the shirt has entered my life as I am that my boy entered it (thankfully, these events are mutually inclusive, so I’m allowed to say that).
Every now and then, I steal the shirt(!). There is nothing in the whole of my wardrobe that has quite the same appeal. It is the perfect accesory, the perfect finishing piece. I’ve tried countless times to find an equivalently appealing shirt, one for my side of the wardrobe, but alas, I have always failed in my quest. There are hundreds of denim shirts to be had these days, in charity shops, vintage shops, high street shops – the market is huge. However, I have never found one that I would ever favour over my boy’s shirt, however hard I’ve looked.
He bought the shirt years ago in the Levi Shop and it has weathered so beautifully. The denim has softened to perfection and the colour has faded in a way that could never be achieved again. The sleeves roll up faultlessly. It is just the right amount of effortlessly-too-big on me, so it looks brilliant open, can be belted flawlessly, and can even be tied up cowgirl style. And, importantly, it washes up a treat. Whenever I have tried to find a replacement, they have always been too stiff, too blue, too big (in a makes-you-look-four-sizes-bigger way rather than oops-don’t-i-look-slim-in-my-accidentally-too-big-shirt), too new, or too thin. I’ve considered buying a new Levi one and hoping it will age in the same way as my boy’s, but that would take alot of wears and alot of years. I don’t have that time, I want it now.
I have bought one denim shirt in my time. It’s a vintage, pale blue, proper cowboy number with brown suede stars on it. A wonderful find, but it only does what I want it to do occasionally, only looks good from certain angles. I wish it was much smaller and more naturally battered. I wish it would age more gracefully. It has served its purpose, though; it does its job on days when I’m not allowed my boy’s shirt (after all, it is his, so he gets first dibs) and created a wonderful sun-shield in the fields of Somerset last June. But, essentially, if I have any sort of choice, I would always go for the perfectly aged Levi number, my boy’s very special denim shirt.
