Indigo & Denim: The divine madness of blue

Indigo is not just a dye; it is a conspiracy of chemistry and commerce. An ancient, complex alchemy, which from the beginning of times required vats of fermented leaves and a dash of black magic, the deep, inky blue it produces is a color that ages better than most Hollywood actors. Unlike synthetic dyes, which fade like a cheap sun lounger left outside in winter, indigo does the opposite. It mellows, deepens, creases into one’s personal history.

It also carries a whiff of rebellion. From the Napoleonic soldiers who paraded in their indigo-dyed greatcoats to the twentieth-century factory workers who wore it out of necessity, and then, inevitably, to James Dean, Marilyn Monroe (who’s figure hugging Levi’s in the film The Misfits changed women’s approach to denim forever), and every sulky rock band in the last half-century, indigo has always been the color of a certain nonchalant approach.

Denim, of course, is the fabric that made indigo its religion. Originally a workhorse material, it has transcended its origins as the uniform of cowboys and dock workers to become one of the most appreciated textiles in the world. It is woven with a twill so strong it might as well be industrial scaffolding. And yet, thanks to its unique composition, it breaks down, folds, creases, and wears into something that feels profoundly personal.

The fashion world’s relationship with denim is a peculiar one. On one end of the spectrum, you have the purists—denim-heads who sneer at pre-distressed jeans, muttering about "raw" selvedge, as if their trousers were artisanal cheeses. They prefer the hard, starched indigo that demands a slow, painful breaking-in period, a boot camp where only the strong survive. Then there are the designers, those alchemists of silhouette and subversion, forever trying to reinvent the wheel—re-cutting, re-dyeing, sanding, bleaching, and even fraying denim into oblivion, in the hope of charging quadruple for a pair of jeans that look like they were dragged behind a car in a Quentin Tarantino film.

The magic of denim is that it is, quite literally, the only thing every human on the planet wears. Billionaires and baristas, artists and accountants, men and women who care about clothes and they who absolutely do not - all have some kind of denim item somewhere in their wardrobe. It is, perhaps, the only true sartorial democracy. It has had its low points (stone-wash, we’re looking at you), but it remains, at heart, the simplest, most effective thing a person can wear.

So, if you're reading this in a denim shirt, dress or skirt, congratulations—you are wearing history. If not, well, what are you waiting for? There’s a denim item out there waiting to become your second skin, your wearable diary, your indigoaddiction.