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When Anna Lamb joined Studio Freight for a Friday learning session in early 2022, she didn't arrive with slides or a polished deck. She brought something better: a story about America's most ubiquitous garment and a perspective shaped by over a decade working across every corner of the fashion industry.
What started as a "get to know you" moment became something more substantial — a talk built on broad strokes and specific insights about where jeans came from, how they evolved, and why each generation keeps reinventing what they mean. As a continuation of that presentation, Anna reflects on why jeans are a useful lens for understanding history and fashion culture.
Anna has spent over a decade working across the fashion industry,?? from intern at NYLON Magazine to Global Styling Lead at Amazon, Style Director at Xcel Brands, freelance editor and stylist for major brands and publications, and founder of Lamb Makes It, a vintage clothing brand built on creative commerce and secondhand finds.
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Jeans are uniquely personal to each wearer, yet ubiquitous. On any given day, more than half the people you know are wearing them. But why? Their reputation is rugged and tough, a universal item that everyone feels connected to. They're steeped in the glow of an American myth and arguably one of the most important inventions of the 20th century.
To tell the story of jeans, we have to start with the material: denim, which has a deeply rooted history dating back before the American cowboy and frontier. The exact origins are unknown, but there are traces from the 17th century. In Dungri, India, a work cloth called dungarees was produced. In Genoa, Italy, ship material was converted into work pants. And in Nîmes, France, the first recorded denim was called "serge de Nîmes." Breaking this down, we ultimately get what is known as the blue jean — "blue" from Nîmes and "jean" from Genoa.
Going back centuries, before France and Italy, indigo dye was hard to come by. Competition to get it was fierce, earning it the nickname "Devil's dye." Indigo?? is a green weed, and turning it into blue dye has historically been a delicate process, meaning only the most skilled weavers could do this kind of work. When you introduce a natural fabric like cotton or woven cloth, the first coloring is actually green. Eventually it oxidizes and turns the fabric blue.
To tell the story of jeans, we have to start with the material: denim, which has a deeply rooted history dating back before the American cowboy and frontier. The exact origins are unknown, but there are traces from the 17th century. In Dungri, India, a work cloth called dungarees was produced. In Genoa, Italy, ship material was converted into work pants. And in Nîmes, France, the first recorded denim was called "serge de Nîmes." Breaking this down, we ultimately get what is known as the blue jean — "blue" from Nîmes and "jean" from Genoa.
Going back centuries, before France and Italy, indigo dye was hard to come by. Competition to get it was fierce, earning it the nickname "Devil's dye." Indigo?? is a green weed, and turning it into blue dye has historically been a delicate process, meaning only the most skilled weavers could do this kind of work. When you introduce a natural fabric like cotton or woven cloth, the first coloring is actually green. Eventually it oxidizes and turns the fabric blue.
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Telling the story of indigo in America, like many American stories, means talking about its ties to captive peoples. In some African cultures, indigo fabric is considered holy. Because it rests on the skin, it's believed to hold the wearer's spirit and soul. The specialized process of dyeing and using indigo was deeply spiritual to many African tribes.
Enslaved African people brought this technique with them to the New World. Indigo dyeing — and therefore slave labor — became one of the first deep economic ties to the fortunes of slaveholders and the emerging slave economy. Indigo was added to the South's crop rotation along with tobacco and rice, making it the second-largest cash crop in what is now South Carolina just before the American Revolution.
Enslaved African people brought this technique with them to the New World. Indigo dyeing — and therefore slave labor — became one of the first deep economic ties to the fortunes of slaveholders and the emerging slave economy. Indigo was added to the South's crop rotation along with tobacco and rice, making it the second-largest cash crop in what is now South Carolina just before the American Revolution.
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In the 19th century, denim took center stage because of its strong weave and durability as labor-intensive work grew across America. Cotton was picked and packed by enslaved people in the South, sent to mills in the Northeast to be loomed, cut, and sewn into workwear, then shipped back down South to be worn by the very people enslaved in the cotton fields. Because most of the work in America was being done by enslaved people during this time, blue jeans fell into a category called Negro Cloth — one of the first ways in America where clothing was used not only to form individual identity but also to stigmatize people.
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Although jeans were worn by most Americans working in labor-intensive fields, they didn't last long. Continual bending and repetitive tasks caused stress in predictable areas: the crotch, seat, knees, the fly, and pocket openings. Enter Jacob Davis, a tailor in Nevada during the 1870s. He was the first to make what we now know as the modern American jean.??
By adding copper rivets — washers and posts used to structure horse saddles — to all the places that would rip, Davis reinforced pants for gold prospectors who came to him in the American Southwest. The popularity of this innovation grew. Davis knew he needed to scale, so he brought in Levi Strauss, his dry goods supplier in San Francisco, as a partner. Strauss applied for the patent, making the riveted “waist overall” a must-have for any working American. At the end of the 19th century this was 70% of the working population.
By adding copper rivets — washers and posts used to structure horse saddles — to all the places that would rip, Davis reinforced pants for gold prospectors who came to him in the American Southwest. The popularity of this innovation grew. Davis knew he needed to scale, so he brought in Levi Strauss, his dry goods supplier in San Francisco, as a partner. Strauss applied for the patent, making the riveted “waist overall” a must-have for any working American. At the end of the 19th century this was 70% of the working population.
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During the Great Depression, the blue jean became a symbol of collective American struggle. The Farm Security Administration sent photographers to document everyday life during this period. They captured images from farms to port cities and construction projects in New York City, with denim appearing throughout. These photographs revealed a common identity during a dark time, unifying the country under a shared goal: rebuilding the American economy.
The Great Depression marked a turning point. Before the 1930s, denim was purely utilitarian. But its affordability and accessibility during hard times pushed it into the cultural mainstream. Perhaps there was a nostalgic longing for the mythical American West and the promises the frontier once held. The popularity of western films reinforced this shift, elevating the cowboy into the enduring American hero — almost always wearing jeans. This highlights again how problematic the retelling of these stories through cinema is, as they are almost always white stories told through a white lens. The real American West was complex and culturally diverse. The majority of the workforce consisted of people from Mexico, enslaved Africans, and Native Americans.
One consequence of this revisionist American West was the invention of the dude ranch, which allowed wealthy easterners to cosplay western working culture. Because of the Great Depression, most ranchers had no other means of income but to transform their farms and homesteads into spa getaways for the wealthiest Americans. These ranches became the first place in American society where women could wear pants without stigma. With more wealthy women doing rugged outdoor work while vacationing, denim companies began creating jeans specifically for female customers for the first time, design following fashion in a way that hadn't been done previously when jeans were simply workwear.
The Great Depression marked a turning point. Before the 1930s, denim was purely utilitarian. But its affordability and accessibility during hard times pushed it into the cultural mainstream. Perhaps there was a nostalgic longing for the mythical American West and the promises the frontier once held. The popularity of western films reinforced this shift, elevating the cowboy into the enduring American hero — almost always wearing jeans. This highlights again how problematic the retelling of these stories through cinema is, as they are almost always white stories told through a white lens. The real American West was complex and culturally diverse. The majority of the workforce consisted of people from Mexico, enslaved Africans, and Native Americans.
One consequence of this revisionist American West was the invention of the dude ranch, which allowed wealthy easterners to cosplay western working culture. Because of the Great Depression, most ranchers had no other means of income but to transform their farms and homesteads into spa getaways for the wealthiest Americans. These ranches became the first place in American society where women could wear pants without stigma. With more wealthy women doing rugged outdoor work while vacationing, denim companies began creating jeans specifically for female customers for the first time, design following fashion in a way that hadn't been done previously when jeans were simply workwear.
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During World War II, jeans were put on a global stage. The Navy's uniforms included denim shirts, blue hats, and dungarees. Off duty, G.I.s wore blue jeans, and locals took notice. The blue then became an international symbol of the red, white, and blue. Most notably Rosie the Riveter, first seen in a painting done by Norman Rockwell for The Saturday Evening Post, became a representation of the American every woman who was there to do her part for the war effort. It was calculated that during the period of the war nearly 6 million women went to work, the majority of them wearing denim.
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After World War II, some veterans continued wearing denim, but others struggled to return to quiet suburban life. This unease gave rise to a new subculture of motorcycle riders and gangs. Denim shifted away from the mainstream, becoming associated with rebellion. It promoted a new American archetype: the anti-hero, the outlaw. The new identity of denim was reinforced in the 1950s through Hollywood, including a classic representation by Marlon Brando in The Wild One. When asked in the movie what he was rebelling against, Brando's character responds with, "Whaddaya got?" This singular mentality signaled the shift for popular culture — and therefore youth culture.
The postwar economic boom created a new middle class with disposable income. For the first time, teenagers had money to spend. Jeans — now linked to rebellion and cool — became essential to American youth. Teens rejected their parents' wardrobes, using denim as a form of self-expression and defiance. Schools banned jeans from dress codes, and many parents feared that wearing them would lead their children astray. This moral panic caused American denim companies' sales to slump. In response, denim companies banded together to form the Denim Council, producing PSAs and print ads showcasing the "right way" to wear blue jeans — upholding a wholesome image built around play, sport, leisure, and exploration.
The postwar economic boom created a new middle class with disposable income. For the first time, teenagers had money to spend. Jeans — now linked to rebellion and cool — became essential to American youth. Teens rejected their parents' wardrobes, using denim as a form of self-expression and defiance. Schools banned jeans from dress codes, and many parents feared that wearing them would lead their children astray. This moral panic caused American denim companies' sales to slump. In response, denim companies banded together to form the Denim Council, producing PSAs and print ads showcasing the "right way" to wear blue jeans — upholding a wholesome image built around play, sport, leisure, and exploration.
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At the beginning of the 1960s, denim's image shifted through initiatives like the Peace Corps. It also became a staple in social justice and civil rights movements. Younger Black men wore coveralls and traditional denim workwear to connect with the poor working class and sharecroppers. Individuals who struggled to secure their right to vote. This was a deliberate choice to identify with their community rather than with the upper-middle-class white American culture that Dr. King and other older generation activists had chosen to wear.
Denim directly connected the civil rights movement to the counterculture movement of the 1960s through the aesthetic of youth rebellion. For hippies, clothing was a form of self-expression and political activism. They emphasized creativity by embellishing jeans — writing on them, patching them, adding fringe, and embroidering. Rock stars and musicians adopted this style, adding another layer of cool to a new way of wearing American denim, which became the uniform of a generation. By the 1970s, brands embraced the very rebellion they had sought to distance themselves from in the 1950s. Take, for example, the Levi's ad from 1971, which featured an aerial shot of a music festival with a Levi's logo placed over it, shifting the market for blue jeans.
Denim directly connected the civil rights movement to the counterculture movement of the 1960s through the aesthetic of youth rebellion. For hippies, clothing was a form of self-expression and political activism. They emphasized creativity by embellishing jeans — writing on them, patching them, adding fringe, and embroidering. Rock stars and musicians adopted this style, adding another layer of cool to a new way of wearing American denim, which became the uniform of a generation. By the 1970s, brands embraced the very rebellion they had sought to distance themselves from in the 1950s. Take, for example, the Levi's ad from 1971, which featured an aerial shot of a music festival with a Levi's logo placed over it, shifting the market for blue jeans.
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Fashion and advertising institutions embraced the idea of hippie chic, trying to sell to young radicals. They co-opted and commoditized the authentic nature of counterculture style, turning jeans into high-value items that designers could position in higher-end retail spaces. Silhouettes shifted into a higher rise and tighter fit for both men and women alike. This introduced glamour to American denim for the first time. Enter the era of designer jeans and ultra-sexiness. The prime example was Brooke Shields in the iconic Calvin Klein ad, chipping away at the traditional fashion hierarchy. Jeans became acceptable to wear at any time for any occasion, opening up the democratization of fashion and its relationship with denim.
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By the 1980s, with the emergence of hip hop in areas like the Bronx, denim jeans naturally became the uniform of that subculture. At the time, for many African Americans, a pair of designer jeans carried significant value, serving as a status symbol. Innovators in the hip hop space linked denim to the language developed during that era with words like fresh, dope, and fly. This transformation was also visible in the early days of MTV, where denim was worn in ways never before seen in the American mainstream.
In the 1990s, American designers like Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger created a new all-American aesthetic that went beyond traditional blue jeans. These brands represented status and aspiration, built on imagery of sailing, yachting, and country clubs — spaces from which Black communities had been historically excluded. However, hip hop artists and their audiences reclaimed these brands, giving them entirely new cultural meaning. By wearing these symbols of exclusionary wealth, hip hop culture in the 1990s and early 2000s transformed what had been associated with whiteness and upper-class American identity into a powerful symbol. This act of cultural subversion reinforced denim's cool factor and established hip hop as the driving force behind the denim narrative we continue to see in fashion today.
In the 1990s, American designers like Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger created a new all-American aesthetic that went beyond traditional blue jeans. These brands represented status and aspiration, built on imagery of sailing, yachting, and country clubs — spaces from which Black communities had been historically excluded. However, hip hop artists and their audiences reclaimed these brands, giving them entirely new cultural meaning. By wearing these symbols of exclusionary wealth, hip hop culture in the 1990s and early 2000s transformed what had been associated with whiteness and upper-class American identity into a powerful symbol. This act of cultural subversion reinforced denim's cool factor and established hip hop as the driving force behind the denim narrative we continue to see in fashion today.
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Between 2010 and the 2020s, denim underwent several major shifts. The decade opened with skinny jeans dominating the market — fueled by advances in stretch denim technology, including the rise of "jeggings."?? Popular across genders, these styles often featured distressed, ripped, or embellished details. Around 2018, trends shifted away from skin-tight, low-rise fits toward higher waists. The "mom jean" — a high-waisted, straight-legged style — began replacing the skinny jean. By 2019 and into the 2020s, fashion saw a resurgence of 90s-inspired looks: relaxed, straight-leg, and wide-leg jeans. This shift was driven by Gen Z's preference for comfort, a rejection of the "skinny" silhouette, and growing appreciation for sustainable, durable vintage fashion.
As we look beyond the 2020s, denim continues to evolve — both reflecting and responding to contemporary values. The garment that began as workwear for enslaved laborers and frontier workers has repeatedly reinvented itself: from symbol of Depression-era solidarity to postwar rebellion, from countercultural uniform to designer luxury, from hip-hop status symbol to sustainable fashion statement. Today's denim industry faces new challenges — balancing nostalgia with innovation, addressing environmental impact while meeting global demand, and honoring the diverse, often marginalized communities whose labor and creativity shaped its story.
As we look beyond the 2020s, denim continues to evolve — both reflecting and responding to contemporary values. The garment that began as workwear for enslaved laborers and frontier workers has repeatedly reinvented itself: from symbol of Depression-era solidarity to postwar rebellion, from countercultural uniform to designer luxury, from hip-hop status symbol to sustainable fashion statement. Today's denim industry faces new challenges — balancing nostalgia with innovation, addressing environmental impact while meeting global demand, and honoring the diverse, often marginalized communities whose labor and creativity shaped its story.
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Today, the way we make jeans tells its own story. Fast fashion has turned what was once built to last into something disposable — stretchy synthetic blends that wear out quickly and pile up in landfills. The environmental cost is staggering: industrial indigo dyeing pollutes waterways, and the global supply chain often relies on exploitative labor conditions that echo the very systems that built the garment in the first place.
But a counter-movement is gaining ground. Vintage and secondhand denim?? has become more than a trend — it's a rejection of disposability and a return to quality. Raw denim enthusiasts seek out jeans made the old way: sturdy 100% cotton, designed to break in rather than break down. Small brands are reviving natural indigo dyeing and transparent manufacturing. People are learning to repair their jeans instead of replacing them, turning wear and tear into something worth preserving.
Perhaps this is the next chapter in the jean's evolution — not just reinventing how we wear them, but reconsidering how we make them and what they cost. Environmentally, socially, and personally. The history of American denim encompasses slavery, fashion, consumerism, and the invention of cool. But its reach extends far beyond that origin story. The blue jean endures not despite its contradictions but because of them — a uniquely American garment that somehow belongs to everyone, forever worn in, forever being remade.
But a counter-movement is gaining ground. Vintage and secondhand denim?? has become more than a trend — it's a rejection of disposability and a return to quality. Raw denim enthusiasts seek out jeans made the old way: sturdy 100% cotton, designed to break in rather than break down. Small brands are reviving natural indigo dyeing and transparent manufacturing. People are learning to repair their jeans instead of replacing them, turning wear and tear into something worth preserving.
Perhaps this is the next chapter in the jean's evolution — not just reinventing how we wear them, but reconsidering how we make them and what they cost. Environmentally, socially, and personally. The history of American denim encompasses slavery, fashion, consumerism, and the invention of cool. But its reach extends far beyond that origin story. The blue jean endures not despite its contradictions but because of them — a uniquely American garment that somehow belongs to everyone, forever worn in, forever being remade.
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