For years, there was a running joke among my colleagues, at both the store I worked at and the denim-focused website I wrote for, that I didn’t wear jeans. They weren’t entirely wrong. I respected the idea of jeans on paper, but in practice, chinos, fatigues, and cords always felt like the more winning proposition. Then, almost a decade ago, I was given a pair of OrSlow 105s by a generous friend who’d accidentally hemmed them a little too short. It was the rare instance in which being shorter than a homie actually worked in my favor, and a watershed moment in my personal journey to denim nirvana.
I still wear those jeans regularly; shockingly, the only repair they’ve demanded is a home-darning of a torn pocket bag. But I’m not here to talk about those jeans, though they’re still widely available online. Today, I’m here to talk about a different pair of elite OrSlow dungarees: the 101, a.k.a. the brand’s “Dad Fit” silhouette, which elicited an involuntary yawp from me the moment I tried them on.
Reed Nelson
Reed Nelson
If you prefer your $300 jeans served with a little background context on the side, pull up a chair and get comfortable. Orslow was founded in 2005 by Japanese designer Ichiro Nakatsu, a walking encyclopedia of vintage clothing who just happens to be a next-level craftsman. Almost all of the brand’s wares are manufactured in the Okayama prefecture of Japan, using the largely-extinct sewing machines the region is famous for. In other words, OrSlow still makes ‘em exactly like they used to.
When I bought my first pair of rinsed-black 101s a few years ago, I wore them three times a week for six months straight—and that rate has only slowed slightly in the time since. They were everything I wanted in jeans and more, and they continue to inform what I expect from my jeans to this day. I would’ve bought a second pair that same week, but scarce inventory curbed my baser instincts.
Well, those days of scarcity are over. Not only are the 101s more available than ever, they’re available in a bevy of different washes and colors, each more versatile than the last. I scooped my second pair not too long ago, a semi-rigid rinsed-blue riff, and the only complaint I have is that there are but seven days a week to wear ‘em.
They’re cut with a full leg that avoids veering into Y2K-raver territory, with a high-ish rise that still looks perfectly natural sagged a bit below the waist. Most importantly, though, the dimension-rich straight silhouette meshes with every single pair of shoes I’ve ever worn them with: sneakers, loafers, mules, clogs, these ripple-soled derby-adjacent Paraboots I love. Plus, their aforementioned rise complements sweaters of any and all lengths, and the button-ups that have suddenly roared back into my life.
Will they persuade you to swear off all other pants the moment you pull them on? Well, probably; OrSlow’s jeans tend to have that effect on people. But it’s a tradeoff I’d make any day of any month of any year—and I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty if they inspire the same degree of fanaticism from you.
Reed Nelson
Reed Nelson
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