There’s this pair of boots I own. I got them the week I arrived in London, at Camden markets, some 28 months ago now. Having arrived in the middle of winter, and with imminent plans to undertake a lot of travel, I needed a good, solid pair. Enter the beauties above (sitting, as boots do, quite casually on the epic Hadrian’s Wall in northern England).
You know how there are those items that you own that become an integral part of life? These boots are one such item (wait, should that be two such items?) These babies have carried me through Europe, into Texas, home to New Zealand and back to London again, all across these beautiful British Isles, and I love them to bits. Yet somehow, after being thrashed to such an extent, they haven’t yet actually been worn into bits, and are still as sturdy as ever, if not a little shabby looking.
Often when wearing these boots out and about I get affronted little looks from passersby... nowhere more so than in fashion-conscious Italy, where locals looked positively offended by my footwear. Oh Italians, God love you. It’s now become this weird thing where I even take pride in their shabby appearance, because it reminds me how many adventures they’ve taken me on, how many miles I’ve walked in them and how many iconic, breath-taking places they have carried me to.
We all have something that we’re maybe a little overly attached to... the manky old teddy bear your mum really thinks it’s high time you throw you out, but you know you never will; the baggy-to-the-point-of-ridiculous tee shirt you still wear to bed, even though you can barely make out the design you once loved so much... those boots that are still going strong despite carrying you around the world. It’s a weak spot, alright? I have a loyalty to these boots I can’t quite explain... just accept it (Italians... I’m talking to you).
P.S. This song has never felt more apt.