Being chic hems in our $enses
By Beth Teitell
Wednesday, June 9, 2004
Which is worse? Paying more than a hundred bucks for a pair of jeans? Or paying a tailor an extra $12 to hem them in such a way that the pants' original - distressed - bottom is retained?
Don't answer that.
Before last Thursday, I - perhaps like you - was not the kind of person who would spend more for a customized hem.
In fact, I was not the kind of person who even knew special hems existed (having seen the light, I realize this ignorance may to be blame for many of my problems.)
``Do you want me to fold over the bottom?'' the tailor asked, holding the blue gold in his hands, ``or do you want to keep the faded part? It's more work, so it costs more.''
``Do people do that?'' I asked.
``Some,'' he said.
Some. The word hinted at exclusivity. Glamour, even.
Like most tailors, he's the picture of discretion, so I didn't bother pressing him for names of the well-hemmed.
Instead, I imagined myself strutting down Newbury with my undetectable hem - legs long and lean, hair salon-perfect, teeth gleaming, on my cell with my agent, discussing some multimillion-dollar deal.
How could I justify not going for the deluxe hem? I mean, once having overpaid for the designer jeans, dropping an extra $12 simply made good business sense. I was protecting my investment.
But just to be sure, I called my financial adviser (she has no degree in economics or business, but she knows the layout of Saks' jeans department like no money manager I've ever met).
``If you want to wear cute shoes with the jeans - and you do - you're going to draw attention to the bottom of the pants,'' she said. ``And you don't want someone looking at your cheap hem. If you don't go for it, you can't wear nice shoes, and then you might as well forget the pants altogether.''
The tailor brought out two pairs of jeans. One with the simple folded-over hem, and the other with a hem the ``Sex and the City'' girls would deem acceptable.
And yet, something was holding me back. I made a second call, this one to a Wellesley boutique, Gretta Luxe, where D Squared jeans go for as much as $485 a pair.
``Are hems important?'' I asked the manager.
``So important,'' she said. In the background another manager used the phrase ``old ladyish'' to describe the dreaded folded-over hem.
My research was done. ``When do you need them by?'' the tailor asked.
When?
There's no way you can spend more than $100 on jeans and an additional $24 on a hem, without convincing yourself you simply can't live without the garment.
``Can you do it as a rush job?'' I asked. ``I'll pay extra.''
