In the mid-1990s, worried that the nation was becoming polarized and divided, editors at Time Magazine asked several “distinguished Americans” a tough question: “What do Americans have in common?” With the full power of hindsight, we might wonder why the Time folks didn’t say to each other, “We may be worried now, but letap wait until the United States is really coming apart at the seams before we ask these ‘distinguished Americans’ for help.”
In a media moment of mystery, I ended up on the list of the people contacted by Time. Still, when the reporter from Time first posed the question, I was much more befuddled than distinguished. But just before the deadline descended, the humdrum act of getting dressed in the morning placed the right answer to the question where I could not miss it.
What do nearly all Americans have in common?
An enthusiasm for denim jeans.
And so, twenty-five years ago, I emerged as a multi-tasking early adopter. First, taking the question seriously, I went on public record with an early recognition that the United States was descending into polarization and antagonism. Second, by drawing attention to the power of denim to stitch together a frayed nation, I anticipated the release — this very month — of a documentary called Riveted: The History of American Jeans. Based on the reviews I have read, the film Riveted has at its core an unstated and unmistakable message: “That Western American historian, who was interviewed by Time back in the mid-1990s, actually hit the nail — or the rivet — on the head.”
Jeans can reunite us.
Adding even more force to my early onset of insight, there is definitive proof that I have practiced what I have preached. I own multiple pairs of jeans, one pair of denim overalls, one denim skirt, and two denim jackets. Perhaps best of all, I own one utterly beautiful Rockmount shirt with red embroidery on the denim yoke.
To paraphrase a line from a classic Western song, you can see by my outfits that I am a denim-enthusiast.
In The Streets of Laredo, a mortally wounded cowboy struggles to stay alive until he can speak and be heard. As the song begins, he asks the narrator to “come sit down beside me and hear my sad story.” How does this dying man know that he is directing this request to the right person? “I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy,” he explains to the narrator, crafting the structure of his sentence with perfection.
Transcending the fragmentation of identity and extending across political and class divisions, denim is omnipresent in our nation today. Providentially embedded in our cultural heritage, we find words of redemption, ready for deployment when denim-attired folks encounter their counterparts in couture.
“I see by your outfits,” millions of us are dressed and ready to say to each other, “that you are my kinfolk. Come sit down beside me, and letap hear each other’s stories.”
Please take a moment to make fun of this ridiculous suggestion.
Then give it a try.
Patty Limerick is the faculty director and chair of the Board of the Center of the American West. To respond to this article, please use old-fashioned technology and call 303-735-0104.
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