“it’s mind-altering when you slip into someone else’s shoes. that’s psychedelic, man.” // b. cranston
you can always tell when you’ve borrowed a pair of someone else’s shoes.
you can try and walk in them, but they’ll never fit quite right – the vamp will pinch, the heel ultimately wobbles underneath your gait, and your amble will be familiar, but changed. it’s you – only in the footsteps of someone else.
i wouldn’t dare dream of borrowing someone else’s shoes – mostly because the
wilma, fred flintstonian width of my feet would render those shoes useless post-wear; but mostly, if there is one item that we wear that has as much intimate knowledge of who we are, (other than say, our underpinnings); it’s going to end up there – at the bottom of our soles.
there’s a reason, i think, why fashion has veered toward the flat and even more comfortable – the slip-on trainer. if everything else in life is already so complicated, why make the steps you make even more so? i’ve been saying so with my shoes for years – keep it simple; slip them on, and go.
➝ source : checkered platform slip-ons via opening ceremony
➝ source : checkerboard classics via vans
i’d add my perennial favourites, the bensimon plimsolls, (in carbon), but they have become distinctly difficult to come by as of late… so, boo, boo to them.