An ode to my favorite pair of house jeans
Get yourself some good denim and carefully beat the hell out of it for as long as you can.
Hello again. It’s been roughly three years since my last post on here and as you’d expect, a lot has changed. When I first started this newsletter, I had just been let go of my job writing about the Lakers, still living with my parents and in a relationship with my longtime girlfriend.1
Since then, I got rehired,2 have a place and am now married to that aforementioned girl. I have also been very fortunate to freelance for various outlets along the way. This is something I do not take for granted given the current land(hell)scape for writers.
Although there’s been a lot of genuine good fortune I’ve experienced in-between the last we spoke, there’s also been this annoying itch I haven’t been able to scratch.
First and foremost, I love writing about basketball. But, I have also wanted to branch out and write about my other interests for a long time now. And I want to do so for a place where I feel safe, and for an audience that hopefully is up to read it.
So, while Throwdowns will still publish basketball-related content (that’s why you all initially signed up), there will be a lot more of me going forward. If that’s something you don’t want flooding your inbox, I completely get it. No harm, no foul.
For the others who decide to stick around, thank you. For a taste of what’s to come, let’s get on with this one. A love letter to my favorite pair of jeans.
For transparency's sake, clothes and I don’t mesh.
While I appreciate style, have books on style, and know a cool outfit on the street when I see one, that’s always been a them thing, not a me thing.
Shopping has always sounded fun in theory. Yet given my shortish and lanky build, it always came with some hiccups and frustration. Especially when it came to pants.
A few years ago, I decided to head into a Macy’s in search of some new jeans because: 1) they typically have a sale on Levi’s and 2) have dressing rooms that are abandoned beyond belief. If you go early or late enough, it’s a department store ghost town.
After sifting through different styles, colors, and fabrics, I found a pair of 511s sloppily folded on a shelf. They were on the slimmer side, but also two sizes bigger than I’d normally wear which evened things out.
There was nothing extraordinary about them at first glance. But they were true blue, looked good, and more importantly, actually fit.
My Levi’s, freshly washed, resting on an Ikea stool.
I didn’t know it at the time of checkout but that pair of jeans would probably be the best clothes-related purchase I’d ever make. We’re talking about the Cleveland Cavaliers drafting LeBron James levels of return of value here.
Although I have worn the shit out of these jeans, the weird thing is, I never actually take them outside. An admitted sacrilegious statement given the company’s blue-collar roots.3
When trying to figure out why that’s been the case, I recently recalled reading an article about something similar. Back in 2021, Jason Diamond4 wrote a piece for GQ centered around the idea of the “house cardigan.” A cozy sweater that is designated to be worn only around the house and draped over your best wooden chair. That’s it. It was a funny concept, but it also hit home. Literally.
Without knowing it, these pants have essentially become my version of the house jeans. Reliable, safe, and broken-in legwear that is suitable for whatever house-related task you may face. The most mundane Samurai armor you’re ever going to see.
I change into them once I get home from my day job. I throw them on before sitting down to write. Answering the door? They’re my go-to.
Harrison Ford sporting some denim and sneakers at his home for Vanity Fair.
There are times when yes, these bad boys get to feel some fresh air. Yet those instances are strictly utilitarian like going to Trader Joe’s or Chevron. So I don’t feel too bad about breaking the house-pant oath.
My dad has always worn jeans too. Wranglers, Levi’s, what have you. About 98% of my memories involve him in some beatdown pair splattered with oil or paint blotches. He rarely wore pajamas. Instead, he drank his coffee in the morning with a pair of sun-baked denim.
Unfortunately, like all good things, time is catching up to my 511s. The stitching is starting to come undone, the horses on the back label are starting to fade as if lost in the dust bowl, and my wife has even had to hem the ankles to prevent further damage.
I’m not sure how many more years I have left wearing my Levi’s but there is an end in sight now. I have pondered whether putting them on a minutes restriction à la Kawhi Leonard could extend their lifespan. But I know that’s not what they were made for. They were designed to be put through hell, donned proudly, not stashed away on the bench.
From becoming a homeowner and husband to navigating the perils of adulthood, this blend of cotton and twill fabric has been there every step of the way.
Knowing they one day won’t fit anymore or worse —rip — honestly sucks. Until then, I’ll remain grateful for all the time we’ve spent together.
And Macy’s for having them on sale.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this or any other post in the archive, you can buy me a coffee via my Venmo. See you next time.
She is wonderful.
Silver Screen and Roll is, and always has been, an awesome site for Lakers’ coverage.
During the Gold Rush, Levi Strauss hired a tailor to make garments out of tent canvas after hearing of miners’ need for reliable pants. The first official blue jean dates back to May 20, 1873.
enjoyed this side of your writing!
Welcome back Alex👌🏾