John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Dad Jeans

Dad jeans? I don’t think so.

My teen daughter took me shopping a few days ago for some real jeans. The kind that looks like they’ve been run through an industrial grinder, splotched with bleach and carefully torn and tattered at the edges.

You know, the cool kind.

Actually, they call them “distressed” jeans. Although I’d never thought of it this way, it’s nice to have a pair of jeans that match my sense of self. Distressed. It’s edgy and yet congruent.

I’m 48 and not willing just yet to resign myself to wearing dark shoes, white socks and shorts or dad jeans.

So, how did it work for me?

Did I look like a 25 year old Zac Efron (who I found out last night my wife secretly thinks is really cute but she doesn’t know I know)?

According to my wife, “no” to any comparisons to Zac Efron (who in my opinion uses far too few letters to spell his name, I’m guessing for affect….so I could live with that).

But “yes” as to making me look younger. “Not a day over 45 according to Rebecca.”

That was just enough to whet my appetite. Tomorrow I may change how I spell my name to Jon Brn. I’m already feeling 42 just thinking about it.