#34 I Hate True Religions

So, my friend Katie was ranting and raving about how much she hated True Religion jeans, especially when worn by men, and I couldn't agree more. She then went on to say how she wanted to write a blog dedicated to her hatred of this deplorable fashion mistake, and I could not contain my excitement when I told her I had just the outlet for her intensely passionate dislike of the aforementioned denim brand. So without further ado, I introduce my first guest blogger, Katie...

I remember when I bought my first pair of status-changing designer jeans; I was 15 and they were Seven for All Mankind’s. By college, I had built my very own Bradgelina collection. I had a pair of James’, who I adopted from Bloomingdales, a duo from the Republic of Rock, a set of J twins, and a couple more of my originals. Trust me; I usually never discriminated, but sophomore year of college, True Religions had me making Mel Gibson looking like a saint. My flattering family of diverse washes and assorted fits were not about to be ruined by those repulsive eyesores.

It was my god awful roommate who first introduced me to them. First impressions are supposedly everything, and I first witnessed the two-legged monstrosities on a fat girl with a muffin top, who also sported frizzy, curly hair (Side note: This girl also bought a pair of fake white patent leather Tory Burch Revas… appalling).

Quicker than my J jeans could stretch out, my entire college campus was littered with the wide-stitched weight gain, some people called jeans. And it wasn’t just the girls; guys equally started updating their wardrobes to accommodate the new craze.

I cannot believe that so many people were unable to avert themselves from this mishap in leg wear. Honestly, did these supposed ‘fashion-savvy’ customers not look in a three-way mirror before purchasing a jean that has oversized horseshoes stitched on its flapped ass pockets? And it wasn’t just the ‘classic’ style that had me screaming obscenities; all styles put me at my wits end… Ripped, patched, white, diagonal seams, etc., etc., etc! Gag! Gag! Gag!

I wish I could be optimistic right now and say that most people have strayed from the ass-enlarging jean, but unfortunately there are still those unforgivables who sport the Jeans-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They are the boys who still wear Axe man-perfume, and the whores who still use playboy stickers when they go tanning. When I go to bars and see this sub-culture present, it tells me one thing, jager-bombs are probably half-off. I guess there is a time (or two) during everyone’s lifetime that fashion takes a turn for the worst; I am happy I was able to avoid that train wreck because… I HATE True Religions!