Hungover, jet-lagged, close to delirious in a vintage fashion boutique in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, I don’t feel quite in my body, drifting somewhere beyond, behind. The hipster shop assistants suggest with their poise and cool that I belong neither in my body nor in their shop. But there on a plinth in front of me are a pair of early-nineties Chuck Taylor All Star high tops, large, freakishly large, me large. I am meant to be here after all.
First Chuck and I took Manhattan, later we took Berlin. We got close. I showed him England. We saw a hundred bands, maybe more. Chuck was my go-to companion for years, eminently cooler than contemporary Converse, lived in, characterful, charming. If you’re going to have footwear that protrudes half a metre from your body, you might as well make them worth looking at, a story writ in faded fabric and scuff.
Now, sadly the weathered look has become withered, the vintage aesthetic turned to disadvantaged and pathetic. The plastic has split, glue has dissolved, fissures have opened, laces have snapped and skipped eyelets, the plastic toe cap now levitates somewhere above the faded blue fabric, there is a rodenty rip in the heel.
For some reason, I attach significance to my clothing and shoes. More than I should. I am the opposite of fast fashion, I wait until my beloved items slowly shed themselves from me, disintegrate around my person after decades of wear. My wardrobe has shared many things with me. It is for this reason that I like to say goodbye with a degree of ceremony.
A few weeks ago, I decided that time was up for me and Chuck. I’d wear him to an emo gig, a show like the ones we used to watch together more regularly a few years back. I presumed the screams would tear them asunder and that I would walk home barefoot. It didn’t work. So, tonight I’ve taken Chuck to MJ Lenderman.
Grunge-country-rock has finally done for him, the toe-tapping was terminal , he’s now danced his last dance. Goodbye Chuck, you’ve been better than good.
For more footwear realted reads check out my heartfelt goodbye to a pair of walking boots and the curious tale of the Green Daps in Kathmandu.
