Oh, high-waisted jeans, we have such a tumultuous relationship.
My own natural waist is so disproportionately high on my torso that even the highest of high-rise trousers can barely reach the intended spot on my waistline, and find a way to dig into the flesh of my hips. And yet, that form-fitting silhouette, that kitschy 1970's vibe is too awesome to resist, and I give in every time. I keep coming back to you, remembering only how kickass you look with a tucked-in sweater or pair of massive sunglasses, conveniently forgetting everything you always put me through to get there.
But who am I kidding -- I'm happy to forget. A little self-deception in the name of fashion never hurt anyone (except my hips).