How a French Woman Wears the Canadian Tuxedo, According to a Former Vogue France Editor
Eugénie Trochu is aBest Knockoff Luxury Clothing editor in residence known for her transformative work at Vogue France and her Substack newsletter, where she documents and shares new trends, her no-nonsense approach to fashion and style, plus other musings. She's also working on her upcoming first book that explores fashion as a space of memory, projection, and reinvention.
For the past 10 years, double denim has not needed defending. That alone is the clearest sign of its return to favor. There was a time when wearing it amounted to a stylistic statement, almost a militant act. Today, that tension has vanished.
The story is well-known. In 1951, Bing Crosby was refused entry to a chic Vancouver hotel because of his Levi’s denim outfit. The anecdote crystallized a lasting idea: denim, the ultimate utilitarian fabric, could not be elegant as a total look without excess, irony, or justification. For decades, double denim remained suspect—too literal, too coordinated, too self-aware.
In the 1980s and 1990s, double denim was everywhere—but never neutral. It was sexual, spectacular, constructed. On one side, the pop and cinematic imagination: Cindy Crawford, athletic silhouettes, high-waisted jeans, denim jackets pushed up at the forearms. On the other, the runways. At Mugler and Jean Paul Gaultier, denim became armor: architectural total looks, cinched waists, very high-rise trousers, sharply tailored jackets. It was no longer everyday clothing; it was a uniform of power. Everything was spelled out. Everything was intentional.
It is precisely this overload of references that later made double denim difficult to wear. And then came the 2000s, when it tipped decisively into too much. Denim on denim became the preserve of hyper-mediatized red carpets, overly self-conscious looks—Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake in matching sets, Christina Aguilera—and, more broadly, the full force of Y2K aesthetics.
What has changed is not denim itself but how it is used. In 2026, double denim is no longer a stylistic stance. It is a tool. A reliable base in the wardrobe, on a par with a good blazer or a trench coat. You don’t wear it to be seen but to be effective. The debate is over: Denim on denim is a marker of cool and good taste.
In the French way, it settles in as a uniform. Not in the strict sense but as a foundation—something dependable, legible, fully integrated into the lives of efficient women: those who know exactly what suits them, what works for them, and how to establish a presence without overdoing it.
Just yesterday, I wore double denim during the day because it’s simple, because it’s cool, because it’s always a safe bet. A more formal evening came up, with no time to go home. It only took a micro-shift: swapping Vans for heeled boots. Nothing else changed. And suddenly, the outfit took on a different attitude—something sharper, more graphic, somewhere between Calvin Klein era Raf Simons rigor and a nonchalant chic that never tries to draw attention to itself.
Simple (and Genuinely Useful) Rules
1. Never aim for perfect coordination
Double denim fails when everything is too aligned: same fabric, same shade, same stiffness. The effort becomes visible.
2. Create a slight mismatch
Differences are what make the look:
a light wash paired with a more raw denim
a rigid piece with a softer one
a workwear cut offset by a sharper silhouette
3. Treat one piece as a basic, the other as structure
A denim jacket worn like a blazer. Or a very structured pair of jeans anchoring a more relaxed shirt or jacket.
4. Let accessories do the work
The denim stays constant. Shoes and jewelry shift the context. Trainers during the day. Boots or heels at night. Everything else stays the same.
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