I wear Docs. I’ve worn them since ’95. At first they were just a silly novelty — oooh, lookit my boots, I’d say. Well maybe not exactly those words, but I enjoyed the newness of them.
After a while, they became a part of me. I mean, I became used to the feeling of the boots, and after years of wearing boots, shoes just feel wrong. My ankles feel bare. The difference in weight throws off my sense of balance. I replace the boots whenever they wear out.
You can imagine my shock when I found out that Doc Martens aren’t sold in Canada anymore. You just can’t get them. Here I am in a major city in North America and I can’t buy a replacement pair of boots. And no, you won’t see me buying the “Rocky Ridgeway” knockoffs (or whatever the brand is). They MUST be Doctor Martens or I won’t wear them.
Then I wondered what this means. What does it mean when my favourite item of clothing is so out-of-fashion that they’re not sold anywhere? Am I that old? This is a bit like old guys who refuse to part with their white patent-leather shoes and matching belt. Or professors who perpetually wear tweed jackets with leather patches on the elbows (or Homer Simpson, who wears a leather jacket with tweed patches on the elbows). They’re throwbacks. Fashion dinosaurs who failed to keep up with the evolution of clothing.
My only consolation is that Docs were, at one point, considered edgy and cool. That point alone puts me on the evolutionary ladder above the white-belt-wearing, middle-aged dinosaurs. I’m more like a fashion neanderthal.
So what do I do now? Do I evolve? Do I learn to wear shoes? Do I force myself to put on those space-age, casual runners that I see everywhere? God, those are butt-ugly. Look, if you’re going to own runners, at least get the kind that you can run in. And if you’re not running, YOU DON’T NEED THEM.
No. I refuse. I won’t evolve. I’ll buy my Docs on the Internet, and when I walk down the street, I’ll ignore the taunts of passers-by and the astonished looks of small children and pets. I am the fashion australopithecus. I am primitive man.
And if you don’t like the way I look, well then just remember who’s wearing the ass-kickin’ boots.