Do my balls look big in this (pair of jeans)?

I've had the title of this post earmarked since Manflet began (yeah, it's that good), but a weird thing happened when I sat down to write it. No, I didn't pass out from the pressure on my groin - quite the opposite in fact. Because, disappointingly, the jeans that had originally inspired the idea didn't seem that tight anymore. I'm pretty sure that my junk hasn't shrunk (I'm still the full inch that my wife assures me is more than adequate), and my waist definitely hasn't. And I haven't washed my jeans the wrong way - judging by the look and smell of them, they haven't been washed at all.

So if my jeans haven't changed, and I haven't (physically), then what has? I think, in terms of tight trousers, I've simply broadened my horizons - or narrowed my seams, if you prefer. My latest pair of jeans may even qualify as "jeggings"- leggings either made of denim or made to look like denim (for a fuller description consult that beacon of enlightenment, the Daily Mail, which can tell you if you're too old to wear them - but not if you're too male). Whatever you call them, they're OBSCENE. You can see everything - in front, my "Cyril Sneer" (Nicholas Downes, 2007); round back, my buttcheeks and, because they're low slung (my jeans, not my cheeks), even my asscrack.

Sounds horrible, doesn't it? So what's the appeal? Put simply, tight jeans make me feel like a rock star. And not in a Russell-Brand-comedy-is-the-new-rock-n'-roll-oh-so-hedonistic kind of way. No, like Iron Maiden circa 1982: ludicrous, slightly androgynous (girly from the back, all man in the front), and with my NWOBHMs on show. I'm rebuilding a collection of metal t-shirts, and now I just need some giant white high top trainers to complete the look. Because I like the attention - even if it just consists of a Big Mo-alike on the bus wondering aloud "I wanna know how he gets into them" (*shudders*).

But I want to know what the Manflet readership† thinks:
When it comes to men's jeans, how tight is too tight?

†That would be you, Gadsby.

Daddy Cool

The other day, I was buttoning up my new purple linen shirt (Uniqlo, of course), and I was struck with a sense of déjà vu. I'd seen this somewhere before, hadn't I? And then it dawned on me - my dad has this exact same shirt (only from M&S). It's even his colour. Now, I've made peace with the fact that I'm fast becoming my father - I've even made a headstart on the beard and the barrel-gut - but this could be a slippered step too far. 

At least I'm not alone.  The holy style trinity of Topman, the ASOS newsletter and the guy-hards of Broadway Market (London Fields, darling) confirms that everyman's wardrobe is aging prematurely.  The cardigans and thick-rimmed specs of geek chic have been incorporated into a kind of geezer chic: chinos and deck shoes, topped off with full beard and a comb-over.  No doubt a seasoned fashion hack with a neat line in bullshit would theorise about these turbulent times driving men to seek out comfort, or to emulate their first model of masculinity... but I'll content myself with rifling through my dad's drawers for some sweet elasticated trousers.

\m/