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" From the March 2014 issue Half the housing stock in America is made of less sturdy stuff than the pair of Levi&amp;#039;s I just bought. I didn&amp;#039;t know that I needed such robust new pants until recently, when the editor of this piece intervened and told me so. &amp;quot;So, how long has it been since you bought a new pair of jeans?&amp;quot; he asked me, implying that it might have been decades. &amp;quot;Last summer,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;Huh,&amp;quot; he said, unconvinced. He was right to be suspicious. But the truth is that it&amp;#039;s not because I have been inattentive to changing ideas of pants or that I have lost interest in style. It&amp;#039;s just that I have been cowering from the skinny-jeans epidemic that has lately swept the globe, hunkering down with my threadbare nonskinny jeans and hoping that someday it would all end. I am told that for the proper line one must make sacrifices, but it pains me to say that the predominant pant of our time is just not always comfortable for males of my gender. My confession is I have this penis that goes with me almost everywhere and that wears all the same pants I wear. Now, some of my best friends wear skinny jeans, and I don&amp;#039;t mean to be quarrelsome, but these torture devices are frequently not made for men who also have penises. And if there&amp;#039;s not room for a penis (by God), there&amp;#039;s not room for me. A moment ago, I had no intention in this space of discussing the penis, but there&amp;#039;s really no other way to describe how I recently had thought of jeans. And so it was that on a bitter New Year&amp;#039;s Eve morning, I went shopping with Esquire&amp;#039;s redoubtable market editor, Nic Screws, in a mysterious downtown neighborhood that seems to have been zoned for nothing but pants. Warehouses full of the skinniest things you ever saw. She would hand me a dozen pairs, all described as some version of &amp;quot;skinny,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;tapered,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;slim,&amp;quot; or &amp;quot;gelding,&amp;quot; and she would twirl her finger as I emerged from the changing room. &amp;quot;I need to see the spin,&amp;quot; she&amp;#039;d say. &amp;quot;The spin?&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;I have to see all the parts,&amp;quot; she said. Amused bystanders assumed we were married. Fine, all the parts. &amp;quot;Always wear fitted jeans,&amp;quot; she says. &amp;quot;Oversize pants only emphasize the thing you&amp;#039;re trying to conceal.&amp;quot; How to explain to her that I&amp;#039;m not trying to conceal anything but rather just give it a fighting chance at life? Probably best not to talk. Just spin and learn. After all this spinning, everything was a blur, so it could have taken an instant, or days may have passed, but to my great shock I found some very humane pants to wear\u2014the first being a soft and roomy pair of tapered black jeans by Earnest Sewn, their cotton woven with the faintest trace of spandex. I was semiconscious by the time we made our way to Levi&amp;#039;s, where I found the aforementioned steel-belted pants. Cut from the original bolt of denim handed down to Moses, they could hardly be described as pants even, these Levi&amp;#039;s 501Z 1954 jeans (straight selvage). They&amp;#039;re more like an indestructible yet comfortable dwelling for your bottom half\u2014straight, to be sure, skinny even, but damned accommodating. Just as I had begun to fear that the human form itself was evolving away from me and that I might be forced to join a support group or wear kilts or something, comes this New Year&amp;#039;s miracle, every bit as much a miracle as the lifting of a tyranny always is. Thank God Almighty, I am free at last! "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/style/mens-fashion/a27536/how-to-buy-jeans-2014/>