Off the Rail #2: Studio D’Artisan Relaxed Tapers
Tall tales, small talk, and entirely useless tangents inspired by my daily wardrobe rotation.
I should preface this with a small confession: I belong undeniably and (for the most part) unapologetically to the fabled mid 00s sad boy scene. My teens were best defined by a flurry of screamo bands, low-slung skinny jeans, and ironic tees. The intricacies and complexities of fit have historically eluded me. As a result, my transition to selvedge denim was a hilariously trial-and-error affair.
For the longest time, fit was an overlooked factor in my search for new denim. The selvedge stomping ground was - and still is - awash in a sea of visual and tactile showmanship and spectacle; a warp-to-weft witchcraft so expertly woven that I’d often forget I was supposed to wear the jeans I bought, not frame them. These are Okayama’s finest, I’d tell myself. Tailor made for details-forward denim fiends and the finest forays into the good ol’ production methods of yesteryear. We’re talking Toyoda-loomed, aizome-dyed, super slubby, small batch selvedge here, I’d double down.
But did they fit? Fuck no they didn’t.
Why? Because those mid 00s tight-as-they-come, distressed-as-they-get days were 20 years and (more importantly) 20kgs ago. Nobody looking to walk right in their thirties should be putting ‘skinny’ and ‘selvedge’ in the same sentence when looking for new denim.
Naturally, I’d cop ‘em anyway and tell myself they’d give a little if I abided by the break in. I’d endure the bruised hips and the wanton, indigo crocking of my friends and finery (in my defence - and despite ardent claims to the contrary - my dog looked better that shade of blue). Then I’d wash them and, of course, they’d shrink. Not an awful not, mind you, but just enough to take that dance you do when you don fresh denim from mildly hilarious to potentially fatal.
Long story short, Studio D’Artisan’s FOX-001s were the first pair of jeans I tried after realising that my days of truly slimmer fits were numbered. In truth, ditching out the skinny fit in favour of a relaxed taper meant stepping out of that scene-kid comfort zone somewhat, but it paid off. The swap granted me a just-right mid-rise that didn’t show a pop of asscrack in the mosh pit after one beer too many at a Pup gig. It afforded me a top block that felt just as forgiving after leg day. It granted me a once-rinsed softness that also took the science out of blind-sizing for the precognitive gauntlet throw that is unsanforized denim. And, most importantly, the trade off introduced me to the wonders of a modest taper that didn’t put my calves in a sleeper hold when I sat down.
Sure, it didn’t hurt that the organic Fox Cotton used to make the denim was as gorgeous as it was storied. But that was, and always ought to be, a bonus. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few years of buying less but buying better it’s exactly this: There’s nothing wrong with a little top-tier production flex in your denim selection. But in the interest of cost per wear, optimal human mobility, and never turning your dog a shade of blue for no good reason, fabric should always, always ride shotgun to fit.
