All products featured on Vogue are independently selected by our editors. However, we may receive compensation from retailers and/or from purchases of products through these links.
For most of my life, shopping for jeans was a game of compromise. Waistbands gapped, inseams sagged, and silhouettes rarely flattered. I’d walk into the men’s section armed with brand loyalty and optimism, only to leave with denim that felt more obligatory than exciting.
I tried so hard to conform. Regular, slim-straight, baggy, relaxed, skinny, drop-crotch—if the men’s aisle offered it, I tried it. Every shopping trip followed the same pattern: head to the men’s section, pick out a 34 or 36, and hope for the best. The thighs? Snug. The waist? Massive. Cue the belt—always the belt. The discomfort went beyond aesthetics. My belt would dig into my skin and pull the hair on my stomach every time I stood. It didn’t just feel wrong, it looked wrong. My proportions weren’t being honored; they were being squeezed, cinched, and silenced.
For years, I clung to the “right” denim aisle, quietly hoping I’d one day find a cut that worked. Growing up, I always looked to my mom for outfit approval. Her nod meant I was dressed well and presentable, especially for family events. And I wanted to look “right” for them, too.
I’ve always had thick thighs. I wore a size 28 in men’s jeans in middle school, but that changed in high school as my body shifted. By my twenties, I was exercising regularly, especially working out my lower body, and curves started to develop—curves that men’s denim didn’t seem interested in accommodating.
A casual suggestion from one of my girlfriends changed everything: “You should try on a pair of women’s jeans—they’re literally made for your body.” It felt like a dare, but when I slipped them on, something clicked. The tailoring, the contouring, the slight stretch—it felt like slipping into something that knew me. The change wasn’t just physical, it was psychological. I didn’t just look better, I felt better. Women’s jeans weren’t asking me to shrink or contort—they were offering an invitation to be seen as I am.
Celebrity hairstylist Scot Louie knows the power of that shift. “Availability of sizing for starters,” he says, on why he first reached for women’s jeans. “Also, more exciting and eye-catching styles.”
As someone who observes and curates style for others, Louie has watched men’s fashion slowly open its borders. “Women’s jeans have a lot more variety that I find men’s styles are lacking,” he notes. “I like the fit and design more—it results in feeling more confident.” His take? “It’s just fabric, and fabric has no gender.”
Stixx Mathews, a beauty expert, never saw a line between the men’s and women’s sections. “My mom and I have always been the same size,” he says. “Naturally, we shared clothes. There was never a distinction in our household.” For Stixx, the discovery was less about rebellion and more about practicality. “I’m on the slimmer side, so the fit and feel was just better. Women’s jeans fit me in a smarter way, especially with the shoes I wear.” Mathews wears women’s jeans often and confidently. “I always tell my men friends to try them—and every single one ends up loving them. It becomes our little ‘dirty secret.’”
Both Louie and Mathews speak to a quiet revolution—one defined not by trends but by comfort, confidence, and a refusal to let labels define them. Louie recalls seeing A$AP Rocky and Rihanna in the same Attico cargo jeans. “Both looked amazing, but in totally different ways,” he says. It’s not about gender—it’s about styling, silhouette, and attitude.
Denim is intimate. It’s the foundation of many of our off-duty wardrobes—the second skin we trust to move with us, not against us. When it fits, it flatters. When it doesn’t, it resists. Women’s jeans didn’t just offer me ease, they offered me liberation. It’s not about cross-dressing, it’s about cross-examining what we’ve been told. Asking: Who is this really for? And increasingly, the answer is: Whoever feels good in it.
The lesson I didn’t see coming? That true style begins where convention ends. Slipping into denim that fit—not just physically, but philosophically—wasn’t simply a wardrobe upgrade. It was an act of reclamation. Because at the end of the day, fashion’s most luxurious offering isn’t a label or logo—it’s the freedom to dress on your own terms.