Billy Joel once claimed it was ‘all about soul.’ He was almost right. It is, in fact, all about sole. Or, if not all, then certainly the best part of three quarters. You may not think about it all that often but, truly, the importance of quality footwear cannot be underestimated. As anyone who has ever felt the cold water of a puddle seep into his sock will tell you, it is only when you are without a good pair of shoes that you truly appreciate their value.
Billy Joel once claimed it was ‘all about soul.’ He was almost right. It is, in fact, all about sole. Or, if not all, then certainly the best part of three quarters. You may not think about it all that often but, truly, the importance of quality footwear cannot be underestimated. As anyone who has ever felt the cold water of a puddle seep into his sock will tell you, it is only when you are without a good pair of shoes that you truly appreciate their value.
These days, a shoe can be a lot more than just something you put on your feet after socks. I don’t mean that in the ‘Get Smart’ sense, where a pair of shoes can also make a long distance telephone call (although it can’t be a mere coincidence that most mobile telephones look like orthotic inserts); rather, that sneakers – which were once a mere afterthought – have now been elevated to the status of a consuming passion. Much like everything these days, you can easily spend a small fortune on a pair of runners. I say this not as a mere idle commentator but as someone who once shared a house with a subscriber to ‘Sneaker Freaker’ magazine.
Shoes are odd. They have a tongue and yet, cannot utter a word. But despite this lack of an ability to speak, they still manage to say volumes about us. For me, this became clear whilst still in primary school. To begin with, I had thought that all sneakers were created equal. Then, at some point, I began to realise that although all runners were, indeed, created equal, some were more equal than others. I began to suffer sneaker envy.
Perhaps this was inevitable. After all, I belonged to the most critical generation in the history of footwear. For whilst our parents laboured under the tyranny that were laces – we believed in Velcro. Shoelaces are terrible things. They become tangled and, even worse, they’re prone to breaking at the least opportune time, rendering you loose of shoe and bearing a strong resemblance to a tramp. I refused to learn the finer points of a ‘single’ or ‘double’ knot. What was the point?
In terms of entire history human achievement, Velcro sneakers are a close second to landing on the moon. When they first began to appear in the playground, it seemed the future had arrived. The sound of the Velcro tear became as common to us as the sound of the horse and carriage would have been for our grandparents. Whereas once trying your own shoelaces was one of your earliest achievements, it was binned in favour of an adhesive strap. It was the first time I can recall where the way our parents did thing was suddenly obsolete. It has happened many times since – where once-cherished skills such as spelling and knowing what to do with the business end of a pen, have largely been dispensed with.
Getting a new pair of shoes always made you realise how worn out the old ones were. They put a spring in your step, and not just because of the fresh cushioning. The real test came, however, when you wore them to school. Whilst the shoes made you feel good about yourself, there was always the fear of discovery. For in our school, when you were identified as having ‘new shoes’, you then subject to a brutal rite of initiation by which someone would stand on your feet in order to ruin their box-fresh appearance. It was an act of savagery. And pointless too.
Frankly, I don’t know why they bothered. In Tyabb, between the months of May to September, everything – quite literally – turns to mud. In fact, in Tyabb, wearing sneakers was about as natural as a donkey performing jazz ballet. We lived in gumboot country. Everybody had a pair. Unlike almost all other kinds of footwear, gumboots have their own noise. As your feet slip back and forth inside the rubber shell, it sounds as though your boots are having trouble breathing, as your feet snort and puff. There were advantages, though, to such loose-fitting footwear. Gumboots could be removed by a simple kick and, if circumstances demanded it, used as weapons to defend yourself against marauding brothers and sisters. I can only say that you know you’re alive when there’s a gumboot hurtling in your direction.
Whereas gumboots were built for the mud, dirt and slime of the outdoors, sneakers were something that would inevitably be despoiled. You’d be lucky to be able to maintain their pristine appearance when walking between classrooms. In reality, the ritual of stamping on new sneakers was unnecessary. Not that it mattered. It was, I think, more the principle of the thing.
I can’t recall the last time I wore a pair of gumboots. That’s despite the fact that there’s still a pair on the gumboot rack by the back door of my father’s house with my name on them. However, those gumboots have long since been a home to a variety of arachnids rather than a pair of feet. If it’s unwise to stick your nose into things, the same can be true of your toes. It has been longer still since I had a pair of shoes with Velcro. Whereas once they were the future, all Velcro shoes do now is remind me of the past. Of a time when Velcro was king. It’s funny what time does. Perhaps it’s just as well that I learned to tie my laces after all.