I never thought I needed perfection. I also never thought that a pair of jeans would make me feel complete. And for most people, they won’t.

Yet the image of my dream jeans led me down a rabbit hole of obsession — one that would consume me late at night. The videos of shuttle looms clacking yards of dark indigo denim distracted me every day.

I remember seeing a video of a man’s hands stained with natural indigo dye — a rustic image I thought would reclaim everything I missed from my non-physically taxing life. 

I didn’t know I particularly needed a certain pair of jeans, nor that I’d become a snob for all things denim. All I remember was a TikTok of a well-dressed man speaking about how his jeans faded over time.

When we think of denim, of course blue jeans come to mind, but denim refers to the weaving of different strands of cotton. Generally, denim is woven with indigo-dyed cotton and standard white cotton — that’s why you see speckled white dots in your jeans. 

Selvedge is the traditional way that denim is woven. Yards of denim are passed through shuttle looms that give the fabric ends a “self edge,” hence the name.

Selvedge denim isn’t inherently better than standard jeans, but it’s more durable and has a certain charm. Plus, my neurons fire every time I see the small glimpse of selvedge ID — a stripe of colored thread — when they’re cuffed. 

Japan has kept true to the classic traditions of denim manufacturing. There, to this day, the cotton threads are hand-dyed using natural indigo dyes, which age the jeans over time.

As you wear the jeans, you’ll notice the creases becoming lighter as the pants mold to your body and belongings. Some people develop outlines of phones and wallets in their pockets. I’ve seen someone develop a fanned fading by their front right belt loop where they kept their keys. 

The jeans became proof of the life you lived. After seeing that, I fell in love with them.

I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I’d check the comments on any TikTok that mentioned selvedge jeans. I’d write down names which introduced me to more brands than I could count. I’d screenshot jeans and Google reverse image search them to get hints of brands.

I couldn’t sleep. 

I needed to watch more videos about selvedge denim. As I read online about how to care for selvedge denim — still not having a pair — videos of denim history would play in the background as if the knowledge was passively seeping into my mind. 

I needed to look sexy and timeless in a pair of jeans that could rival James Dean and echo Hollywood royalty. I needed a pair of jeans that I could wear at home while writing, while I’m fixing my car or at a Saturday night dinner with a blazer.

They’d be a pair of jeans that years from now would make people wonder, “How did he look so cool?”

I’d look like those pictures of suave intellectuals from the ‘60s, like Allen Ginsberg, James Baldwin and even Miles Davis. They would roll in their graves just to get a look at me as I walked in a pair of jeans that would make me a staple and a godsend.

I found a few pairs I deemed worthy, but my God, were they expensive. The standard pair can cost an average of $300.

Mind you, I’m a broke college student.

So, the jeans sat in the back of my mind. Sometimes, I’d end up with spare change, maybe enough to buy the jeans, but I knew I didn’t want to mess up the hemming. I needed to see them in person.

Unfortunately, Boston isn’t a haven for the niche fashion trends that I’ve hyperfixated on.

I’d learned about a store called “Self Edge” —  it had a pretty unfortunate name, but one that called to what they sold. They had a few locations, the nearest one being in New York. Seeing that I wasn’t going to New York anytime soon, I had to wait.

I had to do more research — and a nearly exhaustive amount at that.

I added the jeans I wanted — the Sugar Cane Okinawa jeans in a size 38 with a custom hem — into my cart on the Self Edge website. I looked for used pairs on eBay, and I even translated different Japanese websites into English to see if they could import a pair at a discounted price. 

Then, an opportunity struck on a spring break trip to Los Angeles. When the plane arrived, my wallet was set on one thing.

I drove down La Brea Avenue the next morning, and when I saw the wrought iron storefront of Self Edge, my heart skipped a beat. 

Today was the day I’d get my jeans. 

Inside, the back wall was filled with racks of dark blue jeans. It looked like a floating ocean against the dark brown walls and crimson rug. I brushed my hands through the denim, feeling the textured woven threads.

I tried a few pairs. They were incredibly stiff at that time, but fit above my belly button and hugged my lower back.

It was unavoidable — I had to have a pair. 

A salesperson cuffed them to the length I wanted, then marked them with chalk. The hemming would take a few days before they were ready, so I had to get them shipped. 

They arrived in Boston the day I arrived back from my trip to California. I nearly ripped the box apart and put the jeans on. Needless to say, it’s been a match made in heaven.

At this point, they’re another pair of jeans. I wear them as I do my work and sit on the train. When the sun hits the jeans through my windows, there’s a subtle cobalt coming through the dark navy denim. But my God, I feel great in them.