Saturday, September 10, 2005

The Case For Cowboy Boots

Warning: Entry contains some mild profanity. Reader discretion is advised.

Recently I fell out of love with someone, for a million different reasons that I don't necessarily regret. I think it's fair to say that, even though the guy's still a friend, he did let me down, and it was just better for both of us not to get my hopes up for him any further. End of story.

One thing that I did like about him, however, was that he did own a pair of cowboy boots. Not the stereotypically ornate, over-decorated Tony Lama type boots, but a pair of straightforward working-man cowboy boots in the most buttery light brown leather that I've ever seen. I never got to touch them - they were his boots after all - but they were very rugged and handsome, like the old Marlboro ads that I used to see all over the place when I was a kid. They were beautifully crafted and downright attractive, in ways that were harder to explain than the crush that I had on their owner.

I say this as someone who has sworn countless times that I would never be caught dead in cowboy boots. There really is nothing in my current wardrobe or lifestyle that would justify me owning cowboy boots at all. In fact, I've never had any luck in my lifetime with shopping for any kind of boots - firstly because my calves are very muscular and curvy, and secondly because the boots that do end up in my closet are excruciatingly trendy pieces that don't stand the test of time. As I write this, there is a pair of black ankle boots with thick platforms languishing in my closet, waiting to be taken to a shoe cobbler to be resoled and de-platformed out of its misery. (nd don't get me started on the Doc Martens that I made my Daddy buy for me when I was a teenager, which got worn at least twice a year before I gave up on them and consented to have them sent to a cousin in the military.)

It's been said, however, that every man should own a pair of shit-kicking boots n his lifetime. And I think those boots do fit the definition of “shit kicker” in some ways:, because they were utilitarian and stylish in a way that demands respect. (Okay, so the definition of “shit kicker” is pretty nebulous, too, because there are people out there who get their poop-sorting done in combat boots; I know for sure that my Dad dealt with farm poop in rubber wellies, but that was him. That said, I hope you get the picture.)

Anyway, I could see why my pal had those boots in his closet, though, because it was pretty easy for a guy of his stature to feel confident and masculine in boots like those - regardless of where he wore them. The boots were definitely meant to be worn for those moments when sneakers or loafers won't cut it; they're meant to make a man feel like a million dollars. I could so easily relate to that, because that's the same reason why I put up with strappy high heel sandals.

So to recap: Cowboy boots = hot, but they're still tricky to wear and require the right attitude to pull off. Also, still not for me.

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