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Skinny jeans for men biography

I can only imagine what people think about me when I walk down the street. I’m a South Asian, bald guy with a bit of scruff, thin-wire glasses and a commonly-noted spring in my step that often contradicts the pained or contemptuous expression I keep on my face in public. If I had to venture a guess, though, I imagine they’d look at my tapered pants and reduce my complicated personality into one character judgment: Look. At. That. Fucking. Hipster.
Honestly, I can’t blame them. I certainly fit many other defining characteristics of this otherwise unfairly-homogenized group. I wear a lot of band shirts and flannel, obsess over “important” artists that most people wouldn’t recognize, criticize contemporary political crises from the safety of conversations with my peers, and have spent the past few years floating between occupations while harboring an unreasonable hope that I might make it in a rock act. I even drink PBR from time to time, and don’t mind it at all (gasp!). I suppose that alarms a lot of people, if only because of what it’s connected to in the popular discourse. Many contemporary writers worry about my generation, saying that we avoid confronting reality, value identity construction over ambition, and live lives as fragmented and disconnected as the social media options we worship; if any of that’s true (and trying to articulate why those writers are wrong requires an article unto itself), it’s most clearly embodied in the hipster.
Although a lot of young men have incorporated aspects of hipster fashion in increasing years, including increasingly-slimmer pants, few take the full dive toward skinny and slim-fit pants. Somehow, that seems to be today’s male-style Mason-Dixon line, and it was only until last year that I was on the other side. I admonished my classmates who wore those drainpipes, wondering for whom they were trying to look so cool and if their indie rock-show dancing was so lame because their pants had damaged valuable nerves. The truth is that, for better or worse, my contempt masked my envy, and crossing that divide was the final step in me actually accepting myself.I’ve always been a very skinny dude with a tiny waist and insane metabolism, and internalizing certain ideas of what that meant has was severely detrimental to my self-image. In junior high, I was moving towards punk fashion (which probably would’ve pushed me towards skinny jeans eventually), but fought a double-sided battle against home and school that made defining my style pretty difficult. One of my clearest memories of junior high was coming down the stairs with my hair gelled into light-spikes I donned a plaid shirt, unbuttoned over a logo shirt, and below-the-knee shorts with long socks. I thought I looked like one of the guys from Blink-182, which made me the coolest person in the world. Of course, my mother screamed at me to get back up and change, and I hastily put on the most boring outfit I could think of. I still don’t remember why plaid over logo tees was such a crime, but it was.
Since then, junior high involved a difficult set of style negotiations, trying to appear a little punky and avoid being called gay by my classmates while wearing something my mother wouldn’t object to. She loved to buy clothes from Abercrombie, and constantly supplied me with slimmer pants that I avoided like the plague. Preppy clothes contradicted my personality and interests, firmly rooted in rock music and a coolness around reject status, and I grouped those skinnier pants in that category.It went deeper than that, though – I hated being skinny, and tried everything I could to downplay it.

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