Melvin Durai
Tirath Singh Rawat, the Chief Minister of Uttarakhand, has drawn a lot of criticism on social media for his recent comments on ripped jeans. While taking a flight, he apparently met a woman traveling with two children and did not appreciate her attire, which included boots, several bracelets, and jeans that were not fully intact.
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“You run an NGO, wear jeans ripped at the knees, move about in society, children are with you, what values you will teach?” Rawat said, speaking at a workshop organised by the State Commission for Protection of Child Rights.
An avalanche of criticism followed, seemingly from every Indian woman who has a Twitter account. Just because you wear ripped jeans does not give anyone the right to rip your character, does it? Of course not. And wearing perfect jeans—jeans with no holes or blemishes—does not mean that your character is perfect, does it? Nope, not at all.
Rawat later apologised for his comment, saying that people are free to wear whatever they want, but continuing to insist that wearing ripped jeans “is not right.”
I understand his discomfort. I fought that battle several years ago and I lost. My teenage daughter Divya got her way and wears torn jeans whenever she wants, but thankfully not every day.
Ripped jeans have been around since the 1980s and steadily growing in popularity. They can be quite expensive, which is why Divya did not buy her first pair of torn jeans from a store—she made them. She used a pair of scissors, but it didn’t quite look authentic.
To make an authentic pair of ripped jeans yourself, you have to wear the jeans on a motorcycle and get thrown off at high speed. Just try not to get any blood stains on them. That would ruin the look. And another thing: please wear a helmet. There is no point in wearing a pair of stylish jeans while you’re lying in the morgue.
I’ve never bought ripped jeans myself, but I’ve certainly worn them. Almost every pair of jeans I buy will eventually get torn at the knees. A scrape here and a scrape there, and before you know it, I’m making a fashion statement.
This sums up my relationship with fashion: If I am ever found to be stylish, it is always by accident.
Divya, on the other hand, is quite deliberate in her clothing choices. She won’t buy just any pair of ripped jeans she finds in a store. She has to examine the pair carefully, make sure the rips are just right. Quantity matters, but so does quality.
All the rips must be in the front and preferably spaced apart, so they do not join together and cause your jeans to suddenly become shorts. That might cause some discomfort to you, as well as a certain chief minister.
It’s also important that the rips do not all look the same. One or two of them can be holes, giving people a view of your legs through your jeans. These holes should not be large enough that you can accidentally put a leg through them, nor should they give easy passage to any rodent looking for temporary shelter.
One or two of the rips can also be shreds—spots where the material has been torn, but where threads remain, permitting no view of the skin. Other blemishes can be scrapes, mere abrasions on the fabric that do not permit any ventilation.
Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to seeing my daughter in ripped jeans. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I have too many other battles to fight. For example, Divya wants to get her nose pierced. Not until you’re an adult, I say.
As far as I’m concerned, any new holes are better located in her jeans than in her face.
