The truth is, I wasn’t even looking when I found you that fateful afternoon on the high street. I was actually after yet another uniform black dress.

I’d been rifling through the racks, frustrated that there was an abundance of smaller sizes – anything 16+ had already gone. But there you were, hiding on an incorrectly marked hanger behind some dresses.

I double and triple-checked the label as I couldn’t believe you were my size, before rushing to the changing room, trying not to get my hopes up. As soon as I tried you on – a washed-out black denim, high-waisted pair that hugged in all the right places – I knew my search was over.

The perfect pair of skinny jeans – I know, skinny! Bootcuts be gone, there was nowhere to hide with you.

You had just the right amount of stretch so I avoided the dreaded gaping at the waist, no longer having to ruin my look with a belt. And your high-waist style meant I wasn’t flashing everyone if I crouched down or raised my arms above my head. At 5ft 8in, I’m not short either, so you really were a denim miracle.

One woman's ode to her favourite jeans