Finding a decent pair of denims can become a quest for the holy grail, a foredoomed pursuit of glories past.

On their website you can buy Levi’s 501 button-fly “rigid rinse,” the ur-jeans, for a mere $36 – forgiving to the wallet but not to the body. They are guaranteed to chafe your inner thighs.

Or you may elect to buy the same cut 501’s (“XX” made in Amsterdam) from a slightly higher quality dark-wash denim for $268 at J. Crew. They are a little more comfortable than the originals, but at that price you don’t want to wear them when weeding a thorny garden.

Choices in between are limited to streaky, over-washed, greasy-feeling, thin-weight, distressed jeans that look as if a homeless person had traded them for a cup of coffee.

First off, stop looking for the cup of everlasting life. Jeans don’t have to be perfect (which is a relief to know because you will probably fail to find perfect ones anyway). Jeans need not be the repository of your essential being or the sacred vessel of your singularity. Grand hopes and dreams will overstuff a pair of humble denims. Anyway, aren’t denims the most conformist of clothing choices?

Blue jeans were born in the 19th-century as cheap work pants. Above all they are supposed to be sturdy. After a requisite breaking-in period, they may become comfortable, too. However, in the good old days comfort was second to their ability to withstand a season of gold-panning without ripping.

Mr. Henry asks, “How good is your eye for famous men?”

Congratulations to Jeff the Baptist who correctly guessed the identity of Monday’s Man of Mystery. Clearly there is hope for every geeky sixth grader.

Mr. Henry asks, “How good is your eye for famous men?”

What is the well-dressed man wearing today?

On the streets of New York today, increasingly you see men wearing something different from a worsted wool, tailored two-button coat with well-turned lapel. Instead you find weather-resistant jackets deriving inspiration from diverse sources – military, mountaineering, and cycling.

First, the urbane man lost the necktie. Next, he shed the sport coat. The well-dressed man’s windproof zippered jacket speaks not of adherence to royal and ancient country club rules, but of working-class insouciance, big-city nonchalance, and no-nonsense practicality. Instead of a suit coat, the modern man chooses technical outerwear.

To those interested in the history of fashion, mention must be made that, like so may other fashions originating as actual sportswear, the modern suit jacket originated as a hunting coat for riding to the hounds. The seat vent allows the jacket to drape elegantly astride the saddle.

Most sport jackets today appear to have devolved from military uniforms, specifically the flight jacket and the motorcycle jacket.

Even on beautiful autumn days when air is crisp and leaves are turning, Mr. Henry does not ride motorcycles. Consequently he finds the motorcycle jacket to be an unnecessary accoutrement.

With extra zippers, extra belts, and metal studs, the motorcycle jacket strikes an aggressive, predatory pose. Its ethos of violence is sartorial overkill.

Though the wearer may think he is saying, “I am Marlon Brando as Johnny in The Wild One.”

In fact he says, “I flunked the entrance exam for the Highway Patrol.”

Congratulations to LB for correctly guessing Monday’s Man of Mystery to be none other than Captain James T. Kirk.

Mr. Henry asks, “How good is your eye for famous men?”

Last month as recompense for a year of toil and strain Mr. Henry went shopping. The time had come to buy himself a present, and a new line of super-120 wool at J. Crew were cut perfectly for Mr. Henry’s eye. Unfortunately they were not cut perfectly for his seat. Five extraneous pounds of winter fat preserved around Mr. Henry’s central section barred his admission into the skinny urbane world of the millennium’s second decade.

Did he walk away in despair? Not at all. With courage, hope, and full faith in a slim future, he bought pants that were too tight.

Of course, he did not share this little affair with Mrs. Henry. She would not have understood the complex series of decisions leading up to a decision, seemingly rash, which turned out to be a battlefield command of remarkable vision and precision. How else could he have forced himself to endure the sufferings of self-control necessary to shed five pounds?

Today, after a month of swimming, walking, and dinnertime deprivation, those pants fit just fine (so long as Mr. Henry does not wear them out to a big dinner). Once again Mr. Henry may sidle down the sidewalk dressed in his new super-120’s and looking like the metropolitan mondain he truly is.

This week’s Man of Mystery is none other than Pee-wee Herman!

Mr. Henry asks, “How good is your eye for famous men?”

This week’s Man of Mystery is one of Hollywood’s great bad guys.

According to a profile in The New Yorker, the most influential person in American fashion believes that a man needs a uniform.

Every day J. Crew’s Mickey Drexler wears a heather-gray T-shirt, a striped “Thomas Mason” blue-and-white button-down with long sleeves rolled up and shirttails out, aged Swedish jeans, and Alden cordovan wingtips. Sometimes he adds a plain black blazer.

That’s it, guys, the new-millennial uniform for aged hipsters. It’s a good look, casual yet savvy. At least it’s not black – the default fashionista uniform.

Straight cut blue jeans on a guy in his sixties? After a certain age, don’t men need a little forgiveness in the seat, waist, and thigh?

Speaking personally, Mr. Henry finds that whenever he spends an entire day wearing pants that pinch his privates, his mood suffers.

Consistent with the hard-driving CEO personality, Mickey Drexler is short-tempered. Could this be a symptom of tight pants syndrome?

Let ‘em loose, Mr. Drexler. Your underlings will appreciate it.