I was forced to retire my only pair of blue jeans not long ago. They must have been at least 40 years old, which means I would have bought them around 1976 when Gerald Ford was president. I was very fond of them. They’d been with me for almost half my life. Time had worn them to a rarefied softness. They were pale blue, grading to white, like an April sky with cirrus clouds. Unfortunately, they’d become unwearable. Only a few threads held them together at the knees. But I couldn’t bear to part with them. So I took them to the alterations shop for rejuvenation.

I didn’t think of it at the time but the gaping holes at the knees made them the epitome of fashion. I probably could have sold them for a fortune on eBay. What exactly is behind this strange, ubiquitous fad? I did a little research and found that torn jeans are an expression of “ex-corporation,” the subterfuge by which a subordinate group appropriates stuff produced by the dominant culture for its own use. Wearing ripped blue jeans rather than buying new ones reduces the number of jeans bought and sold, thus striking a blow against capitalism. Ironically, designers and retailers sell ready-made torn jeans for as much as $300, more than a pristine pair would cost. It’s an example of the cunning of capitalism, which can exploit even its opponents and turn them into sources of profit…

Blue jeans figure in “O, Very Young,” a song by Cat Stevens in which he laments the ephemeral nature of youth: “Though your dreams may toss and turn you now, they will vanish away like your daddy’s best jeans, denim blue fading up to the sky … And though you want them to last forever, you know they never will … And the patches make the goodbye harder still.” I know it’s a little silly, but I declare that’s one of the saddest songs I’ve ever heard.

By the way, “O, Very Young” has a classical pedigree. It’s an example of “Lacrimae rerum,” (“the tears of things”). It originated in “The Aeneid,” by the Roman poet Virgil where Aeneas broods on the deaths of his friends and countrymen in the Trojan War. Isn’t it wonderful that a homely pair of jeans can furnish a connection to an epic poem written over 2,000 years ago? Of course, Romans like Virgil wore togas rather than jeans. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Virgil had an old, threadbare toga which inspired sentiments not unlike those of Cat Stevens.

“O, Very Young” also exemplifies the “Ubi Sunt” theme (“Where are they…?”). Minstrels from the medieval poet Villon to Pete Seeger and Paul Simon have employed it to muse upon mortality and transience: “Where are the snows of yesteryear?” “Where have all the flowers gone?” “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” Think about these matters the next time you slip into your jeans.

The seamstress did a wonderful job of restoring my jeans. But I remember the words of Cat Stevens: “You’re only dancing on this earth for a short while.” Even with new patches, my jeans will not last forever and, alas, neither will I.

— George Gurley, a resident of rural Baldwin City, writes a regular column for the Journal-World.