Hooked aren’t you!
I can tell. There’s something inexplicably alluring about new shoes isn’t there. Regardless of who’s feet they’re on, there’s always an intrigue to them, a drama. It’s certainly true for me whenever I buy new shoes. The mere contemplation of which evoking more emotional trauma than The Red Wedding.
Then again, what sends me into an irredeemable shame spiral is a subject of near ecstatic obsession for others. Clearly there’s more to shoe shopping than meets the eye. It’s even GIF-worthy apparently.
So what exactly is it about that innocuous phrase:
“I bought new shoes today”
that’s so appealing to us? So intriguing? Perhaps, like all good traumatic events, the answer lies in childhood.
The “Back to School” Dilema
We all remember it. Being dragged through the high street as the last days of August were dwindling to an end. New pens, new papers, new jumpers, a not-so-new gingerbread man if I was lucky, it was all part of the great Back-To-School journey, a journey which, no matter how hard I tried, would always bring us to the same end; in Clarks. Like Sam and Frodo’s arrival to Mt Doom my mother would drag me, tired and whimpering, under the arch of that imposing white scrawl, with the hot blast of recirculated air inviting us into the chaotic depths that lay before us.
Just picture the scene; Children everywhere, parents stressed and to top it all, strangers touching my feet. To a sensitive little seven year old such as I was, this scene, of Clarks on late August eve, was my hell. But what made it a true hell, what so aptly leads so many into temptation:
the choice!
Laces of velcro, shoes or trainers, size six or size seven (Fine! I was twelve OK!), lights or no lights! I just could not handle the choice. It was too much for me, enough for me to completely shut down, go full Rain Man. I could only imagine what my mother was thinking.
But is it not this immensity of choice, that makes shoes so iconic?
If the clothes make the man, what about his shoes…
Shoes! Running shoes, walking shoes, working shoes, dancing shoes, high top shoes and flat soled shoes, you think of anything, there’s a shoe for it. For strips of leather and fabric destined to spend eternity trapped between toe and tarmac, it does seem as though shoes are held to a much higher esteem than their lowly job description entails. After all, think back to the last time your eyes fell upon that old, forgotten set of brand new, unused shoes at the back the cupboard.
Berghause boots who’s toes still glisten, Club shoes with sick-less soles, Wellingtons without a speck of shit in sight.
Maybe it’s buyer’s remorse, that feeling of guilt they evoke, the reminder that maybe you chose wrong. But that’s not right, you’re perfect! It’s the shoe’s fault, so why should you feel bad?
Because they’re a decision made, but never enacted. Literally steps not taken.
Shoes, whether we like it or not, advertise the conscious decisions we make, as well as our commitment to these decisions, so long as we wear the shoes. Does abandoning a pair of shoes therefore mean abandoning a way of life? It would certainly explain the angst I felt when buying new shoes, as it was a commitment not only to a new school year, but the abandonment of an old, familiar school year.
New Respect for the Old Adage
Whether this psychoanalysis of shoes is warranted or not, it has bought to me a greater respect for the adage to:
“hang up one’s boots”
It’s no secret that I recently lost my job as a baker, a job that I held quite dearly.
I also won’t make it a secret that the reason I’ve been buying new shoes recently is for a new job, as a pizza chef. The history of me in Clarks as a boy, has therefore been resonating with me lately, as I’ve spent the last few weeks scrolling through endless tabs and pages, to find the perfect work shoes. The sad thing is, chef shoes are probably the most basic shoe going, with the choice available countable on one hand.
It shouldn’t be hard to pick one pair of shoes from what can probably only be a dozen pairs, but it is.
It still is.
On reflection, it’s clear that the shoes were never the problem. I’m the problem, as should be obvious to anyone by now! In buying new shoes, I’m essentially abandoning my last vestment, the one remaining thing linking me to the bakery, and life within it. To buy new chef shoes is therefore to commit to Chef as a lifestyle, to choose Chef, to abandon Baker.
This piece is therefore a lament, an eulogy, a written testament remembering the life of my old bakery Converse. The first shoes, the best shoes, and the most inappropriate shoes that I could ever ask of, to carry me into the world of professional catering.
Extra
Out of interest, i did buy new shoes eventually, I promise. I give you the result of three needless weeks of research.
They do, of course, outperform the old Converse in every way possible (except in stile). There aren’t any holes in them, which is good and I can navigate wet floors now without worrying for my own mortality.
True, I may look more
Jacques Cousteau
than
Anthony Mangieri
but I can confidently say I’m happy with my choice.
The Ollies may seem a tad dull, lacking character, some might say, but that’s not what these shoes are about. To me, these shoes are a symbol of maturing, as a chef, and as an individual. They may look different on the outside, but it’s the same feet, pointing in the same direction, that are inside.
At least it’s not my mother buying them anymore (although nothing can stop her from trying).
More to read
I hope now that you eyes are opened to what your choice of shoe says about you, or that you’ve at least enjoyed the read. If you’ve not had enough choice talk though, you can always visit The Kitchen, to explore my choice of recipes and videos for you to enjoy and have a go at.
