Category: Chuck Taylors

I could never be a Chuck Taylors guy. I survived the wrestling shoe craze of the late 80s, but I don’t want to tempt the athletic shoe gods again. My feet are on the flattish side. But besides functionality, it would turn my whole world upside down.

I’d have to switch to slim fitting jeans, and Oxfords with the sleeves rolled up.

I’d have to learn how to play Chess, and maybe even draw Chinese characters.

I’d have to start listening to music from the garage or something below the ground. (Based on my current preferences, I should be wearing cowboy boots. But they don’t grip well, aren’t conducive to quick getaways on foot, and I don’t ride horses.)

I’d have to carry a guitar case on my back, and develop more than a passing interest in playing one.

It would tempt the jocks into giving me an atomic wedgie.

It would probably do weird stuff to the way I talk, too. Like, I’d start using “Bolshevik” as an expletive.

Nothing like them says, “I think I might like to get laid some time, but for now I’m too socially awkward, pissed off, or both.” (Then again, some chicks dig that whole schtick.)

FYI, I tried wearing those canvas archetypes about 10 years ago. Made me feel like a short guy in flippers. I was paranoid that every step I took echoed like something broad smacking a gymnasium floor.

Just think what else it might lead to, given my age and ambitions. An alpaca muffler? A sport coat with elbow patches? A bowtie?

In my view, there was only one cat who looked cool in them: Bob Cousy. But that opens up the whole short-shorts debate. And I’d rather leave something to the imagination.

No, I’m sticking with my old hiking boots and my rubber Crocs.

After all, I don’t want people judging me for my footwear.