Originally a staple of the working man and then a symbol of youth counterculture in the ’50s and ’60s, the jeans of 2020 are relegated to the back of the closet. It’s sad, really, because for so long jeans have been a fashion workhorse — something you could throw on without thinking in order to look “dressed.” They are the bottom half of the Canadian tuxedo, an icon of American style, and partner-in-crime to the Going Out Top. Now, they’re a form of bodily oppression — the last thing the working-from-home, possibly-eating-more-carbs woman needs. I’ve put on a pair once or twice in the past few months as an effort to feel more put together, but all I really feel is an assault on my crotch. To be fair, in the past I have preferred jeans that function akin to a denim corset, holding everything in place. Not only do I not want to feel that kind of restriction, I’m sort of appalled I ever did.