There is something to be said about an article of clothing whose night like fabric literally inspires, motivates and musters unnecessary emotion. Yes, I am talking about black denim jeans: the world’s definition of black beauty. It's an article of clothing that was most likely conceived on the back of a motorcycle in the midst of some regrettable Sturgis trip. It's tricky and evasive in nature. It is trained to blend in with its surroundings; to appear as dress slacks, but alas no! It's denim.
It is most distinguishable when paired with a pair of bright, white Reeboks, or a cut off tee. Its beauty can only be appreciated against of back drop of pine trees underneath a setting sun. The pockets large enough to hold any essential Swiss army knife or necessary beer cozy; it's zipper remains oiled and attentive in the event of a quick, inappropriate public pee. Going to a funeral? Simply pair with a short sleeve, button down pastel dress shirt. A rock concert? Simply wet with a garden hose to administer the effect of cheap leather. Bow down to the almighty, the trump slacks, God's choice for everyday wear: the black denim jean.
