There are only a few things that get better with time. Wine is one of them. Leather is another. I suppose cars, motorcycles, and even surfboards acquire character over the years, but unlike other things that will naturally age no matter the owner, denim is something that differs from person to person. The patina, the wear pattern, the holes and the split seams. Denim is different. Almost alive. And every pair of pants (or jean jacket) looks different than the next, effected by its owner and his or her lifestyle. Maybe you work on motorcycles; covered in oil and petrol all afternoon. Or perhaps you spend your weekends in the woods, hiking over hills or camping along the coast. Each of these activities changes the way it wears. The way it smells. Which is why, perhaps, we become attached to a particular pair. We wear them when we ought not to. Long past their prime. After all the indigo is gone, and the back pockets have huge holes. But that's when they're best. Because there's something comforting about a proper pair of pants, or the jean jacket you've kept in your closet since you were sixteen. Canadian Tuxedo? Sure. But there's nothing better than some damn fine denim. Handmade in America. Aging alongside you. Till your wife won't let you wear it.