I've always considered the dungaree the uniform of the over indulged and uninspired. The reason so may 90s 3 year olds voluntarily wet themselves in nursery due to those ridiculous metal clip thingys that were IMPOSSIBLE to negotiate with tiny chalk filled hands (or so I've heard). It was also what Rachel wore after she left her fiancé at the altar, had to cut up her credit cards and get a job serving her friends coffee. I had no desire to join this club. And in there, my friends lies it's beauty.
The original double denim (like you had a choice) has now been transformed into buttery soft leather worn over dropped arm holes and pared with cab to curb heels. My fingers are now big enough to manoeuvre the clips, and I'd happily serve coffee if it meant I'd look like this. The fickleness of fashion rears it's ugly head yet again. One lump or two?