A bit incredulous but bemused, I imagine. The world of so-called denimheads can be strange and fetishistic -- at its most extreme, it has a Zoolander Derelicte quality to it, where beat-up raw denim is left unwashed well-past its due date and the goal is to look like a merchant marine from 1920 or a railroad conductor -- but as someone who really loves his jeans, I can tell you that I derive a lot of joy from the fit, detail, style, and comfort of a good pair of raw denim that I've broken in myself.