knee Cleave, it’s a thing


My latest pair of Joe’s Jeans look as though I’ve just won a knife fight. A knife fight or just walked out of Nordstrom’s, where I snagged the latest in distressed denim. Jagged hems, ripped knees, frayed waists, slits galore, they’ve got it all. Joe (my husband) thinks I’m crazy wearing clothes that appear used before I’ve even walked out of the store, but to me they are a fashion must. Sassy, edgy and for a fleeting instant make me feel more like my twenty year-old urban self as opposed to the suburban thirty-something mom of three that I have become. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. 

But finding that perfect pair of distressed denim is way easier than it sounds. The jeans are too long and you’re out of luck. Those frayed, step-hem bottoms can’t be hemmed– you’d be better off just taking scissors to them yourself (which, I’m sorry, but if I’m spending $#@! on jeans, I’m sure as hell not lifting a finger to make them the right length). Then, the holes! Too low and they just show off that ugly, wrinkly spot below your knee and too high, they hit the fatty part right above. Too small, and it looks like your jeans are actually old and worn, and with holes too large I feel like Selena Gomez in her Good for You video. Which brings me to this photo, of my own knee, while watching said children on said suburban playground last week.


This, my friends, if what I’ve taken to calling knee cleave. A little known side effect of distressed denim, remember that you heard it here first. Cleavage on your knee, as created by threadbare jeans. It happens when I stand up too, so don’t think I’m exaggerating. Flesh oozing out between the threads scattered across my knee.  I am sure the entire jean is too tight, but you can only really notice it because the distressing gives your skin a place to escape.

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