With Soles Bouncing
Yeah, yeah, with bouncing soles, I know. It sounds cooler the other way.
I bought my first pair of Doc Martins at JMR in the Fashion Place Mall in March of 1995. I used student loan money. They were black, ten eyelet and they were beautiful. I wore them every day and everywhere for years.
A woman in one of my courses at the community college had a similar pair. Hers were beaten down and scuffed all along the toes. The black shoelaces had been replaced by yellow and brown workmans boot laces that she had to triple wrap around the ankles. They were the sexiest things I had ever seen and my brand new, shiny all black shoes were offensive next to them. At the same time, I loved the way they looked without a mark.
They were aggressive shoes, especially when I tucked my pants into them. Nothing ever made me feel more punk, more confident than those shoes did. It is strange to think that a pair of shoes could mean so much. They were not the most expensive or fancy shoes I had owned but whenever I wore them, I felt different.
Too much of my childhood and teenage years had been spent being afraid. I was casting that off, changing, becoming realized and real to myself. The shoes were an outward symbol to my inside self that that I was not trapped by the person I had been, what I had believed or not believed, and whatever fear had paralyzed me in the past, I would now fight through it.
I still have these shoes and though they are now beat down, scuffed and torn with a few threads loose, I still use them for the same reason. They make me feel better, powerful, unafraid. A good reason to keep them forever.