Coming to Terms with Levis
I have re-established diplomatic relations with the Levi Strauss Corporation. It was touch and go for a while. I wasn’t sure if our old romance would ever rekindle. But that little red tag is back on my ass. Part time, at least. A little piece of my heart still belongs to Wrangler.
When my weight dropped from 221 in early 2021 to a stable average of 157 in late 2022, I felt like a new man. I started dating again — in my sixties! — and needed a whole new wardrobe. At first I assumed that my vast library of jeans sizes 32 and up would serve me as I discarded the 42s, then the 40s, and kept working my way down.
I’ve still got the first size 34 Levis 505 I bought in 1984 when I was 27 years old. At the time they seemed impossibly large. But I was a late bloomer and it’s possible that my pelvis continued growing for a few years. I didn’t notice, though, because so was my belly. I reluctantly made the move to 36, hoping this would be only a temporary move.
But an ill-advised attempt to sedate myself to sleep led to a dependence on a medication associated with weight gain. Soon I blew past 36, 38, 40 — by which time I understood that my weight was a serious health problem — and finally 42. Stepping into my jeans in the morning was like lowering myself into a denim swimming pool. By the time the covid pandemic was underway I was teetering on the edge between obese and morbidly obese for a man my height — another three pounds would have put me over the border. As I did my grocery shopping and took my walks, I felt the tug of gravity with every step.
At one point in the early 2010s, in the three-year gap between the deaths of my parents, I had bargained my weight down from 195 to 165. But then I became consumed by events too bitter and traumatic to describe in a few words and I worked my way back through my jeans collection to its widest members and then a couple of sizes beyond. My weight hit 221 and I was wearing a size 42.
My throat saved me. Age, triple sedation at bedtime, and the roll of fat wrapped around my neck conspired to give me a diagnosed case of mild obstructive sleep apnea. That meant a full closure of the throat enough times per night which aggravated my longterm insomnia and left me feeling like walking death in the morning. The sleep specialist said I would need a CPAP machine to breathe at night for the rest of my life. I tried the machine for two nights and hated it.
By the time of my sleep-apnea diagnosis, however, my weight had dropped slightly, to 207, and I was determined to see how much further I could go. I suspected my problem had a lot to do with an antipsychotic medication prescribed to boost the effect of my sleeping pill. For two decades my sleep had been trouble-free and I didn’t have to make an effort to embrace sleep hygiene. But eventually my aging body and encroaching weight made this once successful strategy untenable.
For round two of my efforts to slim and sleep, I decided to treat my weight and apnea problems as a drug-dependence problem. Over several agonizing months I tapered down the fancy then-new antipsychotic and tapered up a much smaller dose of the older anti-anxiety drug I should have been prescribed in the first place. I also revised my diet to include a lot more vegetables and chicken.
Pounds dropped off and inches disappeared from my waist. I went from 42 to 40 to 38 to 36 — and even those were baggy. But my size 34 reference Levis were still a bit tight. Also, age has cost me an inch of height and my inseam (leg size) has gone from an easy-to-find 30 to a hard-to-find 29. I had always had a few pairs of Wranglers and decided to try a size 34/29 with 99 percent cotton and 1 percent elastomer (Spandex). The modest stretch got me back to a 34 waist and I had found my new reference jeans.
Another medical setback came in the form of my first kidney stone attack. My tender gut liked a little extra room by then and a 35-inch waist with 29-inch inseam and 1 percent stretch became my new reference jean. I bought a whole new set of Wranglers and continue to wear them enthusiastically.
I even indulged in a couple pairs of overly baggy 36es for days when my gut needs extra room — when I’m wearing a thick thermal shirt, or having a heavy meal with a friend, or going to a concert with long periods sitting, or just have a lot of stuff in my pockets. When I needed shorts for summer, I bought regular-fit 34 and 36 in various shades of blue and black and they are ideal for sweaty days. Paradoxically, the 36 makes me look even skinnier.
Why return to Levis? Well, you see them all over the place, on the street, on the subway, and while nearly all the 34 and 35 Wranglers I’ve bought — mostly for $20 from Walmart — fit comfortably, they all fit a little differently. I wondered what would happen if I got back into a pair of Levis.
New Levis 505 in size 34 are as uncomfortable as my old 505, even with one percent stretch. My waist is nearly fat-free much of the time — my tummy comes and goes — but even when it’s at low tide, my hip bones still seem bigger than when I was 27. Plus the leg is a lot baggier than my old vintage 505.
Theorizing that Levis fit a little more snugly than Wranglers, I wondered if the closest equivalent of my Wrangler 35 would be a Levi 36. That was my eureka moment. Everything I tried at that size fit with room to spare and made my package look right (as a gay man, I’m sensitive about that). Tight pants and discomfort, not cool. Slightly loose pants and an air of confidence, very cool.
I also realized that the 505 cut has changed to more of a relaxed fit and that the “slim” cuts might fit me better now that I was set on a waist size of 36. I tried on one cut after another. The “relaxed” cuts (505, 541, 550) were all too baggy for my thighs and calves. The 502 was closer to the vintage 505 of the 1980s and I bought a couple pair of those in deep indigo and black. They will be my formal wear jeans.
But to my surprise, the “slim” cuts fit my legs even better as long as I kept the size-36 ball room in the waist. The 511 and 512 both flatter my legs, especially the 512, though the ultra-slim leg opening makes it hard to get off without sitting down. The closest thing I now have to a reference jean in the Levis line is the 511, though I’m keeping the 502 (when I don’t feel the need to look skinny) and the 512 (when I’m in twink mode).
So I have six new pairs of Levis, all 99 percent cotton and 1 percent Spandex. The 502s, closest in fit to old-school 505, are in the deepest colors, indigo blue (bought at Macy’s, the color name escapes me) and “Native Cali” black (from Amazon). The 511s, both from Amazon, are in the fancy golden-blue “Rinsed Playa” fabric (pictured — the gold shows clearly inside and subtly outside) and dark grey “India Ink Gd” (I have no idea what Gd stands for). The skinny 512s, both from JC Penney, are in medium blue “Goldenrod Mid” and light blue “Sin City.”
I wonder what it would be like to sit in the marketing meetings where they come up with these names. I’ll bet they smoke a lot of weed. A pair of 511 in light “Blue Stone (waterless)” were a shockingly bad fit and went right back to Amazon. But the “Sin City” pair from JC Penney are a close equivalent.
The size 36 Levis — whether 502, 511, or 512 — all allow a sexy party trick. I can get them on and off without touching the button and zipper. I just loosen my belt and they just slither down my hips like gym pants. I hope my dates will be suitably impressed.
When I was trying on the 511 for the first time at Macy’s, I absolutely fell in love with a pair that flattered my waist so perfectly that I couldn’t believe I was looking at my own body. They were, sadly, 30 inches long and I’d have had to cuff them. But I may go back and look to see if they’re still there. If so, they will complete the collection.
When I die, my executor will probably say: What the hell are we going to do with all these pants?
