Mark tried them on. They sat comfortably above his hips. "Better," he called out from the curtain.

"Last rule," Elias said, appearing as Mark stepped out. "The . If there’s a saggy diaper look in the back, they’re too big. If you can’t sit down without a prayer, they’re too small."

"Step two: the ," Elias shouted back. "If you have athletic thighs, look for a 'Tapered' or 'Athletic' fit. It gives you room at the top but doesn't look like a bell-bottom at the ankle."

"I just want jeans that don't make me look like a 90s skater or a human sausage," Mark admitted.

Mark stared at the denim wall, a blue-hued monolith of cotton and rivets, and felt his confidence evaporate. To his left, "Extreme Skinny" looked like a circulation hazard; to his right, "Relaxed Fit" looked like a tent for a small family.

Mark swapped the baggy pair for a "Slim-Taper." He looked in the mirror. For the first time in years, he had a silhouette.

Elias nodded sagely. "Step one: forget the label size for a second. We start with the ." He pulled a pair of mid-rise indigo jeans. "Low-rise is for the daring; high-rise is for the vintage. Mid-rise is the handshake—it works with everyone."

Mark turned, checked the rear view, and smiled. He grabbed two pairs—one in a dark wash for dates and a lighter one for weekends. He walked to the register, no longer a victim of the denim wall, but its master.