I decided to at least start thinking about chucking my old B&W Chuck Taylor All Star high-tops, which I’ve had since high school, when they were $20 and Kurt Cobain hadn’t yet made them cool again. The rubber is disintegrating and the soles are thin enough for me to get my feet wet if I wear them in the rain. Canvas worn to a buttery perfection, they’re so comfortable that I can’t bring myself to dispose of them, despite the fact they resemble a coal miner’s lungs.
Recently I bought a new pair from Zappos.com, a great site if you know your size and enjoy sidestepping sales tax and shipping fees. I can’t bring myself to break them in just yet. They have the faint odor of a tire store and the white trim and laces are as gleaming and blatant as the teeth of Tom Cruise. To wear them now in public would be to wear a pair of floppy clown shoes, inviting stares and derision, imagined or otherwise.
Burried somewhere on Converse’s website, I spotted a banner image promoting the All Star line. Instead of depicting a spotless new pair hovering on a lightboxed background or cocooning the arches of an adonis, it was a scuffed, grubby pair, worn by a guy standing on a cobblestoned European street. It’s clear Converse knows the look most guys are after who wear these things: we want ’em scruffy like the Ramones, not fruity like Punky Brewster.
I beseech Converse to sell pre-sullied All Stars. Manufacturers of jeans have been weathering and poking holes in their product for years, so why not the shoe guys? The breaking-in period on these things will be a burden. I must refrain from throwing them in a dryer with rocks and topsoil.