Sunday, November 10, 2013

boots, nostalgia ... which is better than wigs, nostalgia. or dustmops, nostalgia.

Sometimes all it takes to make me happy are some brand new work boots against a brick floor in close company with a filigreed wall.  
I'm drawn to this style of work boot (these happen to be Sebago that he's just breaking in) because they're seminal to my youth.  Teens of every ten-year age group adopt a boot that represents their ... I'm gonna say it... zeitgeist.  (I feel bad about using that word but experience has shown I can get over all sorts of journalistic crimes)  The cohort before me chose Frye harness boots as their shoe mascot, and the group after did those flat floppy semi-pointy toed boots like Robin Hood wore.  Or hi-top LA Gear sneakers -- feel the burn!  At the 1970s convention, which I did not attend because I was busy nerding it up in AP Biology gosh, a committee decided to go ahead with mullets, bellbottoms, Qiana knit, mauve, curling irons and construction boots, usually in a buckskin color with the iconic white sole and stitching.  Of that list, the only item I was able to score even remotely within the statute of limitations was the boots.  I wore them with my Wrangler jeans.  And a floral cotton blouse with Peter Pan collar, tucked in to the jeans.  Since I was unjustly cheated out of those other elements of style,  I've pursued them with unreasonable zeal now because I can do whatever I want, gosh.  Every time I see work boots like this,  I think they are so so happening.  And I think about ciliates.

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