You never forget your first and it always remains the best. But it’s important to note that best does not assume most outlandish or decadent. I’ll continue to remember the first designer dress I ever bought, and I’ll probably never forget those Prada sandals either, but sometimes, (I’d argue very often) the first-rate spoils of your closet appear in the form of what once were the least exciting purchases: the ones that elicit a “Phew, I found you,” at, for lack of a better word, best.
So, to make that clear, in order for the garment to be rendered “best,” you should still be using it today. It does not have to have cost any specific dollar amount and if it doesn’t feature a print or some sort of indicator that it could have previously belonged to royalty that is perfectly fine if not preferred.
I remember mine like it was yesterday. I’d just returned from my semester abroad and as a result, was ready to put the changes I’d deliberately culled overseas into action on American soil. I’d obviously become an international woman of mystery that could take down the last Austin Powers any day of the week and therefore wanted the advisers of my exterior to project just that. Where I’d previously been a self-proclaimed pundit of the mini skirt and tights — a girl, in other words — for the first time in forever, I wanted trousers. Yes, trousers. Those would communicate my development from kid to mature adult famously.
On a Thursday afternoon, on my way home from (an unpaid) internship, I stopped at the Zara on 42nd street, trousers on my mind. And when I came upon the black-wash, low-rise, slightly slouchy jeans featuring ankle zippers at the slim bottom of the cropped pants, an Edith Piaf song — interrupted by Patti Smith’s “Because the Night” started playing in my heart.
Trousers? What trousers?
These jeans had insouciant stitching on the knees thus creating the illusion of a Balmain-style motorcycle pant and this was back in 2009, people. What’s more? They fit like a not-latex-nor-North-Face-glove which, of course, made them perfect.
I took the pants to the register and waited on that familiar, large intestine-sized line until I finally made it to the cashier where I learned they were half off. That made them $25, which made me happier than an otter chomping on white fish. I took the pants home, put them on, and four years later, we’re still together — and happily, at that.
So, that’s my long version of a Best-Item-Ever story, which makes it your turn: WHAT THE FUCK IS THE BEST THING YOU HAVE EVER PURCHASED? Photos encouraged.
Image via Interview, March 2011.