This article is part of an ongoing collaborative column by Gonny Nir and Jamie Trope. In this column, the authors explore questions big and small, worthwhile and worthless, obvious and absurd, all for the humble pursuit of knowledge, truth and sanity (or lack thereof). 

 

Hello Jamie, 

 

Well, my first question is, who’s asking? I am sure that my answer differs from that of your local three-year-old who would stick their toes (or raw dawgs, as my suitemate prefers to refer to them) in just about anything, or your local stay-at-home mother (or father—I’m an equal opportunist, after all) who would really rather eat crushed glass than risk ruining their overpriced pedicure. 

 

Since we’re in the business of giving the readership our unsolicited opinions on such matters of pressing interest, I advance the following: I detest the act of shopping for shoes; however, I always appreciate the value of a good pair of shoes. Consequently, if I am the owner of a good pair of shoes, I think that they are fairly important. Allow me to fill in this position further. 

 

I—and I truly do mean this—hate shoe shopping. I know we’re taught that hate is a strong word. But so help me God, I hate shoe shopping. It is my personal version of monetized hell. Starting off strong, it requires an absurd degree of planning and provision for the proposed “benefits” at the end of the experience. Think about it. To maximize one’s shoe-shopping experience—understood as purchasing a pair of shoes that fulfills all of one’s intentions for the purposes of the shoe—one has to think about the ‘kind’ of shoe they are looking for. Sneaker or boot? Sandal or flip-flop? The list goes on and on (and if you have the displeasure of wearing women’s shoes, the list really goes on and on). Then comes occasion, followed by fabric and then color. I’m sure I’m forgetting other steps and considerations here, but you get the gist. Moving along, then one must consider whether they can try the shoes on in person at a retailer or order the shoes online so that they can try them on. Already, we’ve racked up time and brainpower that can go to so many more worthwhile tasks and we haven’t even slipped a pinky toe into a single pair of shoes! 

 

Okay, so say one has somehow made it to the trying-on phase without losing all their patience (and sanity). Now one has to consider whether they need socks to accompany their prospective new shoes. If one is at home, I suppose this is a less laborious task, but if one is in a retailer and happened to wear the wrong socks (or God forbid, no socks), well, one is royally screwed. Don’t give me that “well usually stores have socks that you can use” excuse; a pair of cut-to-the-ankle disposable nylons is not a competent substitute for a sock. I have strong (and less hostile) opinions about socks. But nevertheless, I digress. 

 

Now, imagine that one has micromanaged the daylights out of their shoe-shopping experience, and is now pondering whether to buy a pair of shoes. Because ECON 10a has taught me that life is about tradeoffs, one has to weigh the cost and benefits of buying one pair of shoes over another and whether buying this pair of shoes forgoes spending on other opportunities that one may not want to cut. Now this can be tricky and take some serious mental calculations. Once again, I refer to my previous sentiment about forgoing brain power that could go to more pressing matters. So, from start to finish, this process is laborious, stress-inducing and comes with a price tag. And you’re telling me that a generation of women who grew up watching “Sex and the City” are taught to believe that shoe shopping is the crème de la crème of a woman’s life? Objection your honor!

 

Yet, all of this considered, I recognize the virtue of shoes. There are shoes I own that I enjoy and adore. For example, I semi-recently acquired a pair of #510 Blundstones (it only took me two and half semesters on this campus), and I love them. Those shoes support my heels out the wazoo, let me tell you—and I love them for it. Similarly, my yellow Chuck Taylor Converse have literally begun to disintegrate at the heel because of wear over the years. My Arizona Birkenstocks were truly love at first wear. Clearly, I’ve traveled far and wide with my beloved pairs and I enjoy the steps I take. 

 

So, to answer the original question, I think while I may detest the shoe-shopping experience, I do appreciate the end result which makes it worthwhile in my view. Nevertheless, do let me know what your opinion is on this most pressing of matters.  

 

Yours affectionately, 

 

Gonny 

 

————

 

Greetings, Gonny!

 

I most fervently agree with your stance on shoe shopping: it sucks. Especially when you go to an in-person location. The little walk they have you do around the store to test the shoes out is borderline humiliating, and I always find myself second-guessing how the shoes actually feel.

 

Personally, I am the type of person to wear a pair of sneakers until they start falling apart and then order a new identical pair of sneakers. The cycle repeats itself, only shifting ever so slightly as my previous sneakers go out of stock and I must pivot to a different variety. 

 

While you detail the reluctant importance of shoe purchasing, I would like to think about one step past that process: the shoe-wearing itself. Arguably, just as bad. Yes, shoes can protect your dawgs from the elements and potential danger. But they can also give the poor dawgs blisters and aches and pains. Longer socks slip down below your ankles, sending itching irritation in the summer months and cold annoyance in the wintertime. These days, one needs a specific type of shoe for every possible event—and it is entirely possible to wear “the wrong shoe” to the wrong venue and be told you should be embarrassed for wearing that! This cannot do. 

 

I propose an alternate answer to the question: no, shoes are not as important as we think they are. Or at the very least, shoes should not be as important as we as a society give them credit. With the cultural development of “letting the dawgs out” and people going so far as to point it out when someone is doing so, there may be an aspect of social shaming for not wearing shoes. So many people go about their days, shoed. I myself constantly wear shoes on Brandeis campus—even in my dorm room, I wear socks. I cannot stand for this any longer.

 

“No shirt, no service.” I am fine with that. “No shoes, no service?” Absolutely unacceptable. Let me go to the movie theater without shoes. Let me go into the grocery store without shoes. I should not have to wear shoes to participate in capitalism. In one of the short stories within Arnold Lobel’s “Mouse Tales,” a young mouse, off to visit his grandma, first sets out on roller skates. When those fail, he then switches to a bike. The mouse continues switching to other modes of transportation that all let him down, one after the other. Finally, he goes barefoot. This too is not a perfect plan (he must swap out his feet for a new pair as they wear out during the journey), but it is on his own two mouse feet that he successfully arrives at his grandma’s house. The traveling mouse shows how shoes have let us down, and it is only by going barefoot that we can accomplish the tasks ahead of us. 

 

Respectfully, we should let the dawgs out. 

 

Warmly,

Jamie