Here I sit, inside my favorite cafe on Fillmore Street (the Grove), in an accidentally selected table but strategically chosen seat, watching my fellow cafeterians parade into and out of the space.

The cafe, I should note, is not your ordinary cafe but a rustic and charming one with a full kitchen and menu of bon repute. I have chosen, pathetically, a breakfast burrito as my meal, when i probably would have really loved something less pedestrian (apple chicken salad, or eggs florentine, perhaps?).

The burrito is OK, but the coffee is dee-lish. I’ll be having a second cup shortly. My sweet companion - on which I am writing this post - is enjoying her (?) first expedition beyond apartment 11. OK she just got dinged! WTF. Stupid waiter. JFC.

The point of bringing Ms. MacBook was not to write about bringing her, but to surf. Turns out, there are no free wireless connections here. What a drag. So that means that I have to write something instead. Well, that was always part of the plan, but now it is the whole plan.

The main strength of my seating position is that I have full view of all the customers coming in and waiting in line to place their orders for coffee or meals. And it is amazing that 84.3% of all clientele in this establishment walk in wearing on form or another of hi-fashion jeans. Not Levis. Not khakis. Not sweatpants. No. Every young lady (and there are a bevy) that waltzes in here is sporting highly detailed, form fitting, pre-shrunk, pre-aged (sorry, distressed) blue jeans, Some I can identify by the particular curly-que on the ass, Others are too ornate (or mundane) to recognize. A few (very few) lack any tell-tale markers or embroidery. Even the guys rock fashion jeans. I swear I just saw a guy in shredded jeans with the ‘V’ Versace ass logo. I am no exception, by the way. (Joe’s, for the unnaturally interested).

Seven for all Mankind, of course, is the default brand for the fashionistas. But their ubiquity has - naturally - rendered them less cool than they were. True Religion, I hear, now holds the mantle of coolest denim.

I am not complaining, I should note. Just observing. In fact, the point I want to make is that the jeans phenomenon is not a unique thing. It is a case study in the unending march of conspicuous consumption that is the cornerstone of the modern American Dream.