yes. i am about to compare men and jeans.

i have figured it out. and just think it only took me 21 years... trust me, it takes most people much much longer. i have figured out the deep-rooted and complicated correlation between girls love and hatred for that delicious devil denim and.....

well.

men.

i have no type. my dating history...that long line of short lived romances consist of a various assortment. one can try and find a similar quality to link my men, but one will have no such luck. i have an extremely short attention span...as do they. i have horrible taste in men; or maybe it is just that i never choose the right type of man.

With jeans, i have great taste. the problem is i can never seem to find the perfect fit. i like so many different cuts and washes, but the are not necessarily liking me back, much like my past “relationships”.

strangely enough, there are two men who have lead to my epiphany behind finding the right pair of jeans and my being so unfortunately unlucky in love.

one named oscar.

the other cole porter. okay, his name is not really cole porter. that is what i shall call him anyway though.

both gay. both fabulous.

you see, as hopelessly awkward i am with straight men, the gays and i have always bonded marvelously. i am consistently finding my relationships with gay men to be the most rewarding in my life.

case in point.

Oscar.

recently a dear friend of mine invited me too an event at the charming boutique where she works so fittingly and ironically named Therapy. they had invited a wonderful man named Oscar from the denim designers of J Brand. he is a celebrity fit stylist and a jean genius. Immediately he made me feel fantastic by complementing my outfit. then the tough part came... the question “what size?”. i was stumped and embarrassed. for my intense love of fashion, i startled myself by not knowing the answer. when buying jeans i try to make my excursions as quick and painless as possible. grab jeans. try on. grab bigger size. pay. run away. sometimes run all the way home. he quickly grabbed a pair and wrapped them around my neck...i assumed to choke my for my fashion fraud. could i blame him? he released the waist of the jeans from around my neck exclaiming “yep. you are a 27. try these on. you will love them”. i was hesitant, already assuming i would tire of their magical mocha coloring. nervous, i closed the dressing room curtain and pulled on the most beautiful pair of jeans. they fit perfectly. even better, they were the most comfortable pair of jeans i had ever placed on my hard to please thighs. i stepped out eager to get approval from Oscar who cried, “perfect. do they not just hug your body? women need to understand that they are already fabulous they just need jeans like this to sculpt them”. i could not agree more. without any ambivalence, i quickly purchased these lovely size 27 mocha low rise legging jeans along with a newfound realization that delectable denim was not my enemy after all. i just needed the wisdom of Oscar to help me get over my indecisive attitude and silly fearful anxiety.

this brings me too my other love.

my fantastic and stylish best friend. under the alias of cole porter.

i could go on for days about how wonderful he is too me, the fun we have, the trouble we get into and the deep bond we formed over clothes, complaining and cocktails.

this is not about that. this is about his ability to fix my life after every wrong choice i make. this boy knows me and he knows that when it comes to straight boys my love compass is always pointing all awry. no matter how blunt and harsh his advice, he is inevitably right and always follows up with positive reinforcement, witty remarks and drinks. currently we are living a million miles away. coleporter: being fabulous and grown up in new york. me: trying to survive my last year in a small college town. this has not prevented him from being my relationship guru and life coach. a few weeks back i had developed a crush on a boy so clearly wrong for me i couldn’t even see it.

coleporter however could.

after foolishly flirting and thinking said crush was mutual, i learned it was in fact not. said crush was interested, just not interested in me. coleporter had told me from the start and i once again did not listen. while wallowing in self pity to avoid destructive behavior (binge eating reeses) i leaned on my dear friend asking him incessantly why i continuously make such poor choices regarding the heart. since the option of making him my boyfriend was mute, we discussed my other options.

K- your carving a pumpkin alone? that is so domestic of you susie homemaker.

CP- i know. i make cocktails, cook, and carve pumpkins. who have i become, katherine, who?

K- i think a drunk 1950’s housewife?

CP- so correct. you can be the next door neighbor who comes over and we just drink and smoke cigs and gossip all day. i’ll get the dirty martys started.

K- who would be the ideal man for me? besides you of course.

CP- ok. besides me? but i love you so much. hmmm...i see someone powerful but trendy

K- yes yes. and probably with ravishing good looks. smart. but not annoyingly smart.

CP- see that is describing a gay man.

K- well of course our love affair will continue. i just need someone around to do the heavy lifting. and hold my hand when it is cold and i have misplaced my gloves.

CP- how do you feel about lawyers?

K- like them. but they would win all of our fights.

CP- your right. maybe a musician?

K- oh yes. i love a good musician.

CP- then i can totally help. i bet my boyfriend know lots of hot straight men.

K- so the conclusion we have come too over the past few days: we are moving to paris, starting a band, and you have final say on whomever i date(we already knew that though). oh and your turning into a housewife.

CP- exactly. small steps.

sometimes all a girl really need is a fabulous stylist and an even better best friend to tell you that you have lost your mind and share a bottle of wine (even far away) while explaining your poor poor choice in men.

i still may not choose the right men. however, thanks to Oscar, i now have the perfect pair of jeans that sculpt my bum (so well i might add) to help me feel a little better when i fall down. thanks to coleporter for still thinking i am charming even when i whine and making me laugh when all i want to do is cry. you my friend are a gem. the best kind of friend, the one who stays at the end of the day.

my jeans may not always fit. my love life may not always go according to plan.

my friends though will always be fantastic. as will my shoes.

raising my glass. thinking of you.

fondly,

katherine cabiness