When I spied these pretties from Deux Souliers, I was reminded of my favourite boots of all time. They were a pair of black suede Fluevogs that riffed on welding boots, with their jaunty gaiters, and they made me feel rather invincible . I wore them every day and referred to them as my “shit kickers”.
Back then, I was lazily defaulting to my own variation of hobo chic: thrifted, over-sized mens clothes – a phase that lasted a couple of years too long but didn’t really feel out of place in art school. I never felt underdressed with those boots on, my version of magic ruby slippers. While they are now but a distant memory, I’m holding on tight to the rush of spontaneity, sweet-naive bravado and intense creativity that characterized that period of my life.
Lest we start drowning in nostalgia, writing a love letter to long-lost boots also made me think of this wiley character and his unhealthy obsession for white patent leather. Promise me you’ll talk me down if I start insisting on matching my belt with my shoes.