Low-rise blue-denim jeans were to 00s nightlife what gladiators’ loincloths were to those at the Colosseum in ancient Rome. Two thousand years ago, half-naked young men were thrust into a public arena to do battle with lions for the entertainment of the watching masses. Fast-forward two millennia and it was Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan being thrown to the wolves. Bronzed torso flesh was bared, this time between hip-bone-grazing waistbands and shrunken vests, as young women were pursued by paparazzi baying for blood – or, at least, for a photo of a “whale tail” thong protruding from those bootcut jeans with their three-inch fly.
Sorry if the analogy sounds a little hysterical, but the return of the low-rise jean is ringing alarm bells. Until now, the Y2K revival has seemed like harmless fun: scrunchies, ballet pumps, Uggs. So far, so cute. But low-rise jeans? Well, that’s different.
