I had a gift for driving my grandparents to tears, especially when it came to clothes.
Buying a new pair of jeans took a lot of work. You couldn't just buy them, wear them, and off you go. First you had to make sure you got the right kind; Lees or Levis were the only permissible options. Then you had to bleach them or make the jeans look old as hell. That involved bleaching or making them filthy and grinding in the dirt, and washing them repeatedly.
Anyone caught wearing deep blue, brand new, blue jeans were completely crossed off the guest list for the cool kids table at lunch. Of course we had rebels, boys mainly, whose moms shopped for them at the local hardware store and bought them flannel and denim without any consideration for their child's social health. I look back at some of those pics and shake my head. Imagine walking out the door in the morning and looking over and seeing Dad, Grandpa, the drunk from down the road, and 50 other men in your farming community with the exact same outfit on? Try that and then go to school and see if you can lean back against the lockers and wheel in the girls ... no way.