The Saga of New Sneakers


I was at the gym recently on a leg stretching machine that elevated my legs to nearly 90 degrees. With legs perpendicular to my hips, I looked up, squinting in pain, and saw that my right sneaker’s mesh was ripped. I wiggled my foot and could see the whiteness of my athletic socks peeking out at me, winking at me like an eyesore.

Damn, it was time to buy new sneakers.

I hate shopping for sneakers because I never know which pair to buy.

When I got to the store, I was confronted with a sea of sneakers enticing me, taunting me, confusing me. My sneaker-shopping anxiety reared its ugliness.

I knew I wanted a pair that would make my feet look cool, not nerdy.

I knew I wanted a pair that wouldn’t make me look like I’m trying to be a backward baseball cap-wearing millennial.

I knew I wanted a pair that wouldn’t make me look like a retired man in a crushed velvet jogging suit ready to walk the mall.

I knew I wanted a pair that wouldn’t get ridiculed by other sneaker wearers.

Which pair? What color? What brand?

Wouldn’t it be great if the store had an expert Sneaker Stylist who could look at you and your feet and help determine what pair is best for you? The last sneaker salesperson I asked for help told me to get whatever pair I wanted, gesturing to the sea of sneakers before me.

After trying on sneakers in different colors and different styles, I finally chose white Nike sneakers. However, on the way to the cash register, I had a panic attack and thought I needed a different color, a color that wouldn’t show dirt.  I waded back to the sea of sneakers and tried on different colored sneakers and settled on a blue pair. Yup, blue sneakers.

Then, just as I was about to hit the register, the sneaker-anxiety kicked in and I put the blue pair back and grabbed the white pair; the ones I initially chose then rejected.


As soon as I got home, I put on the white sneakers, and for a brief moment felt cool... confident... ready to step outside for all the world to see. I secretly hoped people would stop me on the street and say, “Hey dude, great sneakers!”

They didn’t.

Instead, I stepped in a pile of dog shit.  



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