Clever Magazine, Vol. VI, 1# " Buying Shoes " (www.clevermag.com)

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A Man's Guide to
Buying Shoes

by Joseph Arechavala

My old sneakers are comfortable, so comfortable. And now, just at the point of that perfect comfort, I have to get new ones.

At one time they were new and white. But now they're all scuffed with black and brown streaks. Grey and brown dirt covers just about every square inch, despite my best efforts to clean them. The laces are frayed almost to the breaking point, with worn-almost-smooth soles, and the left sole is beginning to separate from its upper. A couple of the lace holes are broken. Oh yeah, and the fake-leather tops are cracked in several places, you know, in the places where your foot bends when you walk. They're all broken in now, and if I get a new pair, I'll have to do it all over again. I hate that.

Guys don't think about shoes. Guys don’t go shopping for shoes unless they absolutely need a new pair. They just don't. And guys don’t understand why women have this seemingly innate urge to shop for them either. A woman shopping for shoes when they have two-dozen pair already sitting in the closet is completely unfathomable to the male of the species.

The only time I think about shoes is when I have to get a new pair, like now. Or if I go outside barefoot and cut my foot on so me thing; I stand there and curse as I wonder why didn’t I just take an extra two seconds to put on so me damn shoes?

But getting new shoes is such a pain every single time, because I know that no matter how comfortable they feel in the store, still they need to be broken in, the always-painful part of new shoes. And they'll be uncomfortable for days before my feet conform them to my unique shape.

I also never buy expensive shoes. I can’t see myself laying out all that money for pricey shoes that don’t last any longer than the $6 pair I wind up buying at K-Mart. And I cannot bring myself to spend $100.00 for a me re swoosh when I know that only fifteen cents of it goes to so me poor women in China who works sixteen hours a day, while so me bloated corporation gets the rest, along with so me already overpaid, overly-admired sports star, who, more often than not, possesses all the intelligence of my Labrador retriever.

Which is why I can’t comprehend why women pay such outlandish amounts for shoes that look like the Marquis De Sade designed them. Who’d want to wear those things? They’re not shoes – they’re torture devices. I’m convinced the communist regimes in the old USSR used them to extract all sorts of information from reticent captives. “Sergei, get the shoes,” Ivan the interrogator would say with an evil grin, as the poor, helpless victim trembled in anticipation of the coming torment.

One more thing...

Shoes should last longer. You think if they can send a man to the moon, they could make a shoe that lasts a while. But shoes are ephemeral, like a total eclipse that lasts only a few minutes. It is definitely a shame that shoes never last for long. They become like old friends, cozy and familiar, so me one you can count on to be there all the time. I guess that's why there are six pairs of old sneakers sitting in my closet. I just can't bring myself to throw away an old friendship.