I was on the search for jeans. Real indigo denim jeans, not necessarily mixed with lycra to make skinny jeans easier to pull up or paper thin for the humid Singapore weather. I do not wear jeans. It is far too hot out there. But now I need jeans. Thick stiff jeans that hopefully would keep me warm in winter. Winter. That is how petrified I am of the cold. Buying warm clothes when the London details are not finalised yet. Finalised. That is a word I use everyday in work but when used in this context, it is foreign.

So i dragged The laney along with me on my hunt for the perfect pair of jeans. Which is really a laugh. More than the hunt for jeans that actually fit. In addition, these jeans had to be thick. Which proved to be about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack. The laney has the patient of a Saint. I was not particularly enjoying shopping for jeans, I do not even want to know what went through his head. Though I acknowledge he was useful in giving feedback that my ass looks huge. It does unfortunately. In every single pair of pants I have owned and tried on.

Skinny pencil jeans are the vogue right now and have been since a few years ago. But I do not own a pair. Simply because I cannot fit into them. I have hips and thighs. Two things that I am not proud of. Especially in the era of toothpick thin girls. But I work and my thighs have always been larger than average. I am desk bound most of the time which translates to the hips and thighs expanding horrifically across. Unfortunately, it is not something I can help.

Levi’s, CK, Armani Exchange. It was at Guess I almost cried. The very kind salesgirl who was so sweet and extremely helpful helped me find thick jeans which were not too low rise and not skinny. A mountainous feat if you ask me. The first pair I tried on was not bad. It accentuated my thunder thighs but hey, it fit and they were thick enough. Except they were button fly and for the life of me, I could not button the buttons. Whoever invented button fly obviously did not have to ever go to the loo in a hurry.

Another salesman came to give me advice which made me feel like J Lo. “You have a nice ass.” (Thanks, I know it is huge.) “You have proportional legs for your height, what do you wear, 27 or 28?” (Yes, on a good day.) He was as nice as the girl but the jeans were not fitting and I was losing patience.

Finally I headed to Miss Sixty. I have a pair of Miss Sixty. Almost obscenely expensive but who can resist Italian denim? I bought that pair of Miss Sixty’s when I was skinny. That must be like the most skinny pair of jeans that I have. On days when I squeeze myself in them, the squeezing process is something resembling exercise, that leaves me panting on certain occasions.

I molested the hanging jeans display and chose the one that felt the thickest. It looked higher waisted than the majority that I have seen tonight. The cute salesgirl suggested I try 26 even though I asked for 27 because she said that it was cut bigger. And the 26 fit. (Amazing) They were loose at the ass but they were straight cut. (Thank god. I am more over bootleg jeans than anything.) I asked the girl whether she might have another style that was slightly slimmer. (I know, I was just asking for it.) She passed me a pair which I gave up on when I had to struggle to pull up my thighs.

So I pull on easily (!) the previous pair and looked at myself in the mirror. It was ridiculously high waisted compared to the rest of the low rise ones I own and perhaps a little too roomy. But it was comfortable. Plus no muffin top on display. The rinse was dark. And it was 20% off. (Not much help actually)

But I bought them. Not entirely perfect. But close to it.