Years ago, nothing got between Brooke Shields and her Calvins. And there was a time when nothing got between me and my Ben Davises.
Well, almost. My dad did not allow me to wear black when I was a kid. Ugh!
Of course, because divorces are SO MUCH FUN, my mom took me to the store (Bargain City) to get a pair … in black!
Sadly, I still had to go through TSA — a.k.a. my dad’s bedroom door for approval. And while his door did not detect metal, it did identify the gorilla in the room. To that end, he did not let me wear — in his words — pants that made me look like a miscreant.
Eventually, I was able to negotiate ownership of beige and grey pairs. And finally, I had Bens to call my own.
Two years later we moved to the west side, where students were wearing Vans, Op, Rags, Converse, and Levi’s 501s.
And so it went … Ben, they don’t see you as I do. I wish they would try to. I’m sure they’d think again, if they had a friend like Ben. Like … Ben.
Needless to say, in two week’s time, my Ben Davis pants were put away, and I shredded into nothing but skateboarder ensembles. (I even had fluorescent Converse.)
Even though my style changed, and I bid farewell to good ol’ Ben, at 80, he continues to prove that the brand — est. in 1935 — is “plenty tough.”by