Bootcut Borders: When Beyoncé Wears Levi’s and the Internet Implodes

There she was, Beyoncé—hair like a halo, hips in denim divinity—riding the slow-motion current of a Levi’s campaign so slick, so self-possessed, it might as well have been bottled. And then there was Piers Morgan, clutching his pearls and his Twitter account, declaring it cultural appropriation. The queen of American pop in America’s most iconic jeans… appropriating what, exactly?

Morgan, ever the tabloid traditionalist with a talent for outrage, claimed Beyoncé’s new Levi’s ad cherry-picks working-class Americana without paying due reverence to its “white, blue-collar roots.” His argument, equal parts incoherent and incendiary, attempts to recenter whiteness around denim—a fabric that’s spent centuries woven into the backs, legs, and histories of enslaved laborers, cowboys, migrant workers, gangsta rap, queer rebellion, and yes, Southern Black expression. Who, in this great denim democracy, gets to wear the myth?

Thread Count and Cultural Fault Lines

But this wasn’t just a fashion campaign—it was a cinematic retelling. Beyoncé doesn’t model Levi’s; she reclaims them. And that’s precisely what makes Morgan squirm. The ad is glossy, yes—but also radical in its framing. Beyoncé smolders in jeans like a folk hero from an America that never fully welcomed her. She twirls and leans and lounges, not as a guest in someone else’s story, but as a creator of her own. It is a Levi’s ad that dares to imagine a Black woman as the archetype of Americana.

And maybe that’s the quiet scandal. “Cultural appropriation,” Morgan cries, but the real panic is about cultural displacement—that Beyoncé’s brand of denim cool might eclipse the traditional, paler archetype. That the poster girl for the American Dream is no longer his version of America.

When the Jeans Fit Too Well

Of course, this isn’t Beyoncé’s first rodeo. Her brand has always been a masterclass in aesthetic diplomacy—mixing cowboy hats and Creole roots, Southern grit and studio gloss. But this campaign is different. This isn’t just styling; it’s storytelling. And not everyone is ready for whose story it tells.

To accuse Beyoncé of appropriation here is to pretend Levi Strauss was a cultural monolith, and not a capitalist with a sewing machine and a keen eye on gold miners. Denim never belonged to one group—it was a blank canvas. Now that Beyoncé’s painted herself across it, suddenly we want to put up walls around it?

There’s a line Beyoncé whispers through every frame of that ad, even if she never says it aloud: I’ve earned the right to wear this. And she has. She’s worn the burden of iconography, the pressure of perfection, and the scrutiny of every man with a microphone who thinks his nostalgia should govern her narrative.

So who really owns the past when pop stars remake it in high definition?