Give them a foot, they'll take a mile
Jul. 6th, 2008 08:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"It isn't the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it's the pebble in your shoe."
- Muhammad Ali
Shoes are stereotypically the domain of women. The notion of middle-aged, middle-class women going apeshit over strappy sandals has quickly made the transition from tendency to trend to cliche. Sex and the City has done for Manolo Blahniks what Scarface did for cocaine.
I don't think much about shoes. I don't look at other people's shoes and I know too little about style to properly judge them if I did. I dimly recall an episode of Dawson's Creek in which the protagonist was informed by a sage female that women instinctively size up a man by his shoes; I still don't know if this is factual or just glib Hollywood fiction, but if it is real, it challenges my closely held principles regarding romance, human nature and shoeshines. I do remember that the revelation stunned me into insecurity, like when I realized as a child that other people could hear my farts.
The sum total of my philosophy on footwear is and has always been that it should first be comfortable, and then -- if possible -- match the rest of whatever you're wearing. (Note: this does not include sandals or flip-flops, the popularity of which I consider to be among the more regrettable developments modern civilization and the subject for later, more specific discussion.) Now, the conditional phrase within my philosophy above does allow for some latitude, latitude in which I admit I do take some liberties.
I think most women assume that guys only need three pairs of shoes: sneakers, black dress shoes and brown dress shoes. But I myself have 13 different pairs of shoes:
- My white Converse sneakers, my "walking around" shoes
- My New Balance cross-trainers, my "workout" shoes
- My brown Sketchers casual sneakers, a slightly more fashion-conscious "walking around" alternative
- My black and tan "skater" style sneakers, a former "walking around" alternative and now used as "something to throw on my feet when I need to go to the laundry room or throw something down the trash chute"
- My black Sketchers oxfords, a real "all-purpose" shoe
- My brown Eddie Bauer oxfords, an "all-purpose" alternative
- My green Docksider boat shoes, for dressier outdoor or seafaring occasions
- My black Italian wing-tips, my usual work shoe
- My reddish brown no-cap dress shoes, the work shoe alternative
- My black loafers, for slightly more casual business occasions,
- My brown loafers, which are currently stashed in my office for use with my auxilliary backup suit and tie
- My shiny black shoes that used to be my standard work shoe but were ultimately too uncomfortable and have now been relegated to particularly fancy or formal occasions, and finally
- My tuxedo shoes, which I bought for a wedding, wore once, and don't have the heart to throw away.
This latter phenomenon has become a recurring problem with my shoes. Very often, I will replace a pair of shoes in my rotation with a newer or more appropriate pair, but I don't have the heart to throw away the old pair and keep them around for increasingly specialized circumstances. That is really the only reason I still have the tuxedo shoes, or the black "skater" sneakers, or the brown loafers.
This past weekend, I purchased a brand new pair of New Balance cross-trainers to replace the ones that I have been wearing and wearing out for four years; the laces are fraying, the outsole is straining and the treads are barely discernable. If I were to wear them in any truly taxing athletic activity they could quite possibly result in bodily injury. But they are so familiar and comfortable -- and now custom-formed to my foot -- that I have not yet taken them out with the trash.
"Tuxedo shoes" not withstanding, I sometimes struggle to maintain the differential nuance between and among my 13 pairs of shoes. In my head there are very clear shoe requirements for certain situations, but these are by no means universal concepts, especially among people who wholeheartedly care about clothing. I also concede that this rationalization is often deployed by women, albeit on a grander scale, when they defend their voracious footwear necessities and appetites.
What if I have been living under the misapprehensions of stereotype for all this time? Perhaps my footwear issues are merely proof that men and women are really more alike than they are commonly given credit for being. Maybe a wider appreciation of footwear standards and practices can lead to a greater understanding between genders and contribute to a more productive intersexual dialogue, creating an environment in which to build a true foundation for human equality, culminating in a worldwide celebration of all people, everywhere.
I may have to buy a new pair of shoes for that.
- Muhammad Ali
Shoes are stereotypically the domain of women. The notion of middle-aged, middle-class women going apeshit over strappy sandals has quickly made the transition from tendency to trend to cliche. Sex and the City has done for Manolo Blahniks what Scarface did for cocaine.
I don't think much about shoes. I don't look at other people's shoes and I know too little about style to properly judge them if I did. I dimly recall an episode of Dawson's Creek in which the protagonist was informed by a sage female that women instinctively size up a man by his shoes; I still don't know if this is factual or just glib Hollywood fiction, but if it is real, it challenges my closely held principles regarding romance, human nature and shoeshines. I do remember that the revelation stunned me into insecurity, like when I realized as a child that other people could hear my farts.
The sum total of my philosophy on footwear is and has always been that it should first be comfortable, and then -- if possible -- match the rest of whatever you're wearing. (Note: this does not include sandals or flip-flops, the popularity of which I consider to be among the more regrettable developments modern civilization and the subject for later, more specific discussion.) Now, the conditional phrase within my philosophy above does allow for some latitude, latitude in which I admit I do take some liberties.
I think most women assume that guys only need three pairs of shoes: sneakers, black dress shoes and brown dress shoes. But I myself have 13 different pairs of shoes:
- My white Converse sneakers, my "walking around" shoes
- My New Balance cross-trainers, my "workout" shoes
- My brown Sketchers casual sneakers, a slightly more fashion-conscious "walking around" alternative
- My black and tan "skater" style sneakers, a former "walking around" alternative and now used as "something to throw on my feet when I need to go to the laundry room or throw something down the trash chute"
- My black Sketchers oxfords, a real "all-purpose" shoe
- My brown Eddie Bauer oxfords, an "all-purpose" alternative
- My green Docksider boat shoes, for dressier outdoor or seafaring occasions
- My black Italian wing-tips, my usual work shoe
- My reddish brown no-cap dress shoes, the work shoe alternative
- My black loafers, for slightly more casual business occasions,
- My brown loafers, which are currently stashed in my office for use with my auxilliary backup suit and tie
- My shiny black shoes that used to be my standard work shoe but were ultimately too uncomfortable and have now been relegated to particularly fancy or formal occasions, and finally
- My tuxedo shoes, which I bought for a wedding, wore once, and don't have the heart to throw away.
This latter phenomenon has become a recurring problem with my shoes. Very often, I will replace a pair of shoes in my rotation with a newer or more appropriate pair, but I don't have the heart to throw away the old pair and keep them around for increasingly specialized circumstances. That is really the only reason I still have the tuxedo shoes, or the black "skater" sneakers, or the brown loafers.
This past weekend, I purchased a brand new pair of New Balance cross-trainers to replace the ones that I have been wearing and wearing out for four years; the laces are fraying, the outsole is straining and the treads are barely discernable. If I were to wear them in any truly taxing athletic activity they could quite possibly result in bodily injury. But they are so familiar and comfortable -- and now custom-formed to my foot -- that I have not yet taken them out with the trash.
"Tuxedo shoes" not withstanding, I sometimes struggle to maintain the differential nuance between and among my 13 pairs of shoes. In my head there are very clear shoe requirements for certain situations, but these are by no means universal concepts, especially among people who wholeheartedly care about clothing. I also concede that this rationalization is often deployed by women, albeit on a grander scale, when they defend their voracious footwear necessities and appetites.
What if I have been living under the misapprehensions of stereotype for all this time? Perhaps my footwear issues are merely proof that men and women are really more alike than they are commonly given credit for being. Maybe a wider appreciation of footwear standards and practices can lead to a greater understanding between genders and contribute to a more productive intersexual dialogue, creating an environment in which to build a true foundation for human equality, culminating in a worldwide celebration of all people, everywhere.
I may have to buy a new pair of shoes for that.
