Tag Archives: shoes

Sperry Top-Siders Are a Lie

They also don’t have very much support

Months ago, I wrote about an adventure sandal known as the Chaco. As a piece of footwear, the Chaco has never disappointed me. I’ve worn it eating in fancy restaurants, hiking in the mountains, trudging through deserts, striding on the bottom of the ocean, and creeping through strangers’ bedrooms. With each new task, the sandal proved itself and revealed astonishing layers of durability as well as a gentility unknown to most footwear.

Allow me to now introduce the Sperry, my other pair of shoes. A mainstay of New England preps in the North and sorority sisses and fraternity bros in the South, the Sperry is a boat shoe. Placed on the feet, it goes well with white pants, pearl earrings, and brightly colored popped collars. As a piece of footwear, it has the laid back attitude of an undergrad at Ole Miss who will never fear unemployment because he attends class in a building named after his family.

Unfortunately, I don’t look for such a laissez faire attitude in my foowear, which is why the Sperry sucks.Unlike my faithful, industrious Chaco, I often find my Sperry lacking. According to Sperry Top-Sider Shoes’ website, the first Sperry boat shoe was invented after Paul Sperry looked at his dog’s paw after watching him run on ice. While gazing at Prince’s paw, Paul was taken by the grooves that allowed his collie companion to sprint without fear of falling down. Shortly after this mystical experience, he used a penknife to carve lines in a shoe so sailors could walk as fearlessly as Prince.

Thus the Sperry Top-Sider was invented as a boat shoe, a shoe with purpose and function. This noble and well intended beginning stands in sharp contrast to the pitiful depths to which the shoe has now fallen. My complaints against the shoe are numerous, but allow me to begin with the ridiculous leather shoelaces that function as laces only slightly better than Twizzlers. Any shoelace with this many edges and in the shape of a long skinny cube is clearly flawed. I am constantly forced to  re-tie the shoe, exposing myself and my rear end to God knows what dangers.

Furthermore, though the shoe is advertised as a boat shoe, the sorry examples of footwear currently adorning my feet nearly dissolve in water. Even after waterproofing them, their performance was mediocre at best and nauseating at worst. Have you ever slogged around a city for hours dreaming only of a warm, crackling fireplace to throw your shoes into while shouting profanities?

Last of all, the Sperry Top-Sider is not a durable shoe. After a year of solid wear, the soles are almost completely worn through and the leather is so soft it could be thrown in a crockpot and turned into a toothsome winter stew. I do enjoy a good stew, but that is not why I bought the Sperry. I bought it to wear on my feet.

Right about now, I’m wondering: why do I even bother buying these shoes if I hate them so much? Unfortunately this is a question that will have to wait for another time. Let me say, for now, that my own stupidity and stubbornness compels me to wear these travesties year after year.

Some people once said inspirational things that when combined sound kind of like this: “be the change in the world because it begins in yourself today.” That may be true, but I can still put off buying different shoes until tomorrow.

Nota Bene: The company does make “performance” shoes, but if you’re marketing yourself as a boat shoe company and the shoe handles water more poorly than a scrap of paper towel, are you really any better than a common criminal?

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If You Love Something, Strap Your Feet Into It

My shoes in repose.

More info about my Italy trip:

Before leaving, it crossed my mind that I might not stand out as much in Italy since the people look more Caucasian and I would be wearing black shirts, which I heard the Italians are prone to do. I could not have begun to fathom the depths of my ignorance.

First of all, Italians (in the regions I visited) are a people who have adapted to the sun by developing more melanin in their skin, giving it a nice tan color. I, in contrast, am of Northern European descent where people are still actively debating whether or not the sun exists more than 3 months a year. I was the pale needle in a bronzed haystack.

Second of all, mimicking Italian fashion requires more than wearing a black shirt purchased at TJ Maxx. The first problem was the fact it was just a frilly black shirt and not a tight tank top. The second problem is that I paired it either with jeans or  business casual slacks (Old Navy) instead of shorts, skinny jeans, or leggings. My backpack was also problematic, since it indicated I was either an elementary school student or a dirty hippy backpacker. Yet despite all these flagrant violations of well known fashion rules, the real deal breaker in my quest to blend in was my adventure sandals, also known as Chacos, that are so supportive the arch that can be seen from the moon. Only a sloppy tourist would dare be seen wearing something close to practical footwear, not including elderly people that have a prescription for their shoes and can’t fight off their nurse.

I proudly admit without shame that I am such a sloppy tourist, and I spent almost my entire European adventure in Chaco’s. These shoes, unlike humans, have never let me down. They lift me 1.5 inches above mysterious ground moisture. They keep my feet comfortable even after walking for hours on ancient Roman streets. They dry quickly should they become wet. They don’t bill me for therapy sessions. I am so dedicated to these shoes that I even wore them when I knew the occasion might call for something more formal, such a fancy dinner with my Italian host’s family. She donned an elegant coral dress and gold jewelry, her sister sparkled in a well tailored black cocktail number and fancy black flats, and I stood out in my wrinkled purple sundress and adventure sandals. I’m almost certain a group of Italian men was mocking me on my way to the bathroom, but I harbor no regrets especially because of what followed.

After dinner, we visited a medieval city full of steep pathways and slippery cobblestone lanes and aimed to climb to the highest point in order see yet another breathtaking view of the Italian countryside. While the others were inching gingerly along in their chic but impractical footware, I sprinted past them and left little puffs of adventure sandal dust in their faces. That night, I proved beyond the shadow of a doubt to myself and the entire world that fashion is never a substitute for functionality. A rib might break, and an ankle might roll, but my arches will forever remain supported. I don’t care what anyone else says; I love my adventure sandals.

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