How often do you wash your blue jeans?
Fashion says… this is a trick question. And that you should never wash your jeans. Well, not never. But almost. Instead, major designers dabbling in denim fashion dictate a “once every few months” (if that) actual machine wash to keep crisp or whatever jeans are meant to do. And in between that? The advice is essentially an abbreviated gag reel of unconventional cleaning tips.
For example… freezer bum, anyone?
To sanitize bacteria, why not try a lil temp reduction? “Put your jeans in the freezer!” suggest these lunatics of the looms. Oh, yes. To rid my trouser critters (which draws terrifying imagery – for which I apologize), why not rest this netted orgy of organisms right next to my next meal? Hey, why don’t we all take a dump, spray a dollop of whipped cream on each log, and slide those in there too?
Or try – vinegar and vodka!
Well here’s a good excuse to get good and drunk while reluctantly cleaning clothes. You can spritz your spirits on freely to murder any stowaways sullying your Sevens. And treat those britches like your bitches, you laundry lushes. Don’t make ’em drink alone. Plus, you wouldn’t want to waste Grey Goose, would you?
Likewise, white vinegar (which I wouldn’t suggest guzzling) is a perfectly boring feasible alternative, according to these so called fashion experts. But if you do either of these things just hang them out to dry so that you don’t smell like a Russian hooker cleaning her coffee maker in between clients.
Still…I liked this story!
First – because it so blatantly is directed toward people who have special closets in each of their homes for denim alone. But people who really live in their jeans (not just walking around like carefully pinned together mannequins while feigning fame) give zero shits about shape unless shrinkage is happening. While Bob the builder is likely unconcerned about his asscrack exposure, he probably does care when his mooseknuckle’s making an appearance).
Second – because of this terrible Tommy Hilfiger interview I was optically force fed, Kubrikian style (at least that’s the story I tell to quell the rising shame after catching a TMZ clip during a “news” piece):
I feel like this perhaps was a misunderstanding.
Maybe Tommy meant, “I don’t wash my own Levis. Consuela does it for me.”
Or: “I just replace mine once that fresh scent of burning Bangladeshi laborers begins to fade.”
In the end, these fabric hacks were wrought from the minds of professional anorexics. Thus, I imagine they arose one blow filled night in reply to the ubiquitous fashionista query:
“What should I use the stuff in my kitchen for?”