There used to be this sneaker shop on the North side of Canal Street in New York, East of Broadway, that was kind of a hidden gem. It wasn’t like a tier zero or whatever, but they had a steady amount of foot traffic and a pretty random selection of shoes on any given day. Some days I’d find some Dunks that dropped, or some Air Maxes, or some random Retro that I didn’t even know had a release date slotted. And the lady behind the counter - I think her family owned the place - was all business. No messing around with fake pleasantries - she was quick and efficient and knew the whole experience was transactional.
Shortly after one of my many sneaker ‘purges’ - where I’d haphazardly get rid of ~15-25% of my collection without much thought - I found myself in that shop on Canal Street in one of my ‘rebuild’ stages.
Instead of using my better half (yes, my now wife), I picked up a pair of Air Max 360 x Kashima Antlers off the wall. This shoe - for all intents and purposes - was the ‘shiny new thing’ at the time: it featured Nike’s newest technology (360) and was a collaborative effort with someone that I had never heard of . The perfect recipe for someone with fresh purge wounds to cover with fresh future-purge purchases.
I asked the lady for my size, my wife shook her head, and I thought of a hundred potential reasons with which to justify this particular impeding purchase. She was back expeditiously and the shoes went directly to my feet. My wife says ‘do you really need another pair of shoes?’ My response - and to this day I don’t even know how these words came out of my mouth but they did: ‘babe, these are like sex for my feet.’ The lady smirked as she had nailed another sale.
In retrospect - that response - was bullshit. And even thought I didn’t know it at the time, I soon learned why. Because even after several wears and several miles - these shoes felt like bricks - the soles were hard as rocks and the upper didn’t have much give. I put significant wear in them, but never again would I refer to them as ‘sex for my feet.’
Thing is, back in the mid 00’s, the wife and I would spend most of our days walking around the city doing city things. Rain, snow, sun, whatever, we walked all day long. And one thing I didn’t learn until much later - how well you fare has a lot to do with what you have on your feet.
Back then, I was much more concerned with looking fresh, so Jordans, some 90’s B-Ball or some newer Air Maxes were a must. This is where I learned the basis for discovering different pain points in different Jordans - something that probably wouldn’t have went viral if it weren’t at least close to a common experience. I remember finally getting my feet into a childhood grail, limping to our destination, trying on some Rockport Wallabees (translation: shoes for 83 year old men) and thinking… ‘I should just buy these to walk the rest of the day’.
It wasn’t exactly comfort I was looking for. It was relief from discomfort.
And that’s kind of where I land with most shoes these days. I wouldn’t feel comfortable describing most of my shoes as ‘comfortable’, but I would describe them as ‘not uncomfortable'. And for better or worse - I think that’s where the baseline should exist. It’s really not something you want to think about, it’s just something you want to exist, right? It’s something I’ve learned to ONLY think about if it’s the opposite.
Realistically - if we had a blind shoe test with 10 pairs of shoes - how many of you could accurately name the shoe on foot? I’m reasonably certain I’d go maybe 0/10. It’s just a crazy ask.
I walk less than half of what I used to, but the benchmark is still the same: can I get through my walk without discomfort in this pair of shoes? I don’t remember the shoes that I wore, but I definitely remember the ones I didn’t. ‘Comfort’ isn’t memorable because it doesn’t actually need justification. So when I hear that a pair of shoes is ‘comfortable’, what I’m really hearing is that there’s an absence of distraction….either that, or someone is trying to justify another pair of shoes to their significant other.
The long way around.