The ones that got away.
When I was a senior in high school, my friends and I liked to take the D.C. Metro down into Georgetown. We would go down and have lunch and mainly window-shop, because Georgetown isn’t exactly known for its bargain basement deals.
My favorite thing to window-shop for was boots. There were a few good boot shops in Georgetown at the time, Commander Salamander and that other one. I never remembered its name but it was the better shop, as measured in Doc Marten selection. It was Doc Martens that inspired the most lust in me, and I would gaze lovingly at all of them, shining and kick-ass and far too expensive for me to buy on my part-time job at the library.
One bright afternoon I saw them. Any other passerby would see only a pair of 8-hole Docs primarily done in white satin, but with a patchwork design of other white fabrics – some lacy, some shiny, some textured. A stunning shoe, perhaps, but to any other passerby a mere shoe nonetheless.
To me, they were My Wedding Boots. As soon as I saw them I was granted a vision of myself, walking down the aisle in a dress probably far too inspired by Pretty in Pink, with those boots flashing out, completing the outfit, standing out, kicking ass. To say I wanted them would be cheating. It felt, to my 17-year-old heart, as though they already belonged to me. As if they were, in some way, my destiny.
They were $120.00.
I looked, I hemmed, I hawed. I tried to imagine my mother’s face when I explained that I had used the For Emergencies Only credit card to buy boots, but it was okay, because they were for my wedding, even though my grand total dating experience at that time was one highly awkward 6-week relationship with a gangly young man who pretended we weren’t dating when we were around his friends. But it was okay! The boots, MY boots, weren’t for him! They were for me! And they were for my soulmate, the man who would be my other half, who would complete me, who would listen to me spout horrible cliches and love me anyway…me and my ass-kicking satin wedding boots.
I did not buy them.
I thought about them, oh yes I did. But I never saw them again. I knew they wouldn’t last, that shoes so special would win someone else’s heart, someone who could cough up a hundred and twenty bucks. For years afterward, I would sometimes feel a pang that I hadn’t bought them anyway, hadn’t saved up the money to pay back my parents’ credit card and put them on a shelf in my closet for the day the right man came along.
Eventually the internet happened, and with it the Doc Martens website, where you can get any number of stunning, beautiful pairs of boots in any color or style imaginable, but I have never seen those satin beauties again. I think they were a product of the ‘80s and are unlikely to return.
Twenty-one years later and I still haven’t gotten married. I think about those boots sometimes and what would actually have happened to them if I had gotten them. They would have been moved so many times. Boxed up, unboxed. Shown off, bragged over. I’ve certainly told the story enough times.
Over time, though, the story has changed. When I first told it, it was a romantic tale, certain to have a fairy-tale ending. Then it was a chuckle of a tale at the follies of youth. And now I’m using it to illustrate why I don’t tend to hang weighty emotional expectations on articles of clothing anymore.
Do you know what those boots would be right now, if they still lived in a box in my closet? They would be an albatross. A spunky, satin-covered, ‘80s-souled albatross. A box that sat there and smirked at me each time I entered the closet, mocking me for not needing those boots yet, laughing at my hopes and dreams.
I’m glad I don’t have them. If I ever do get married, I would rather get married in some kind of footwear that I picked as the person doing the marrying, not the stuff a dreaming teenager picked out decades ago. Something comfortable and fun and something I can wear again after the wedding because I don’t want to get saddled with shoes that are more meaning than foot-covering. And if I don’t ever get married, I want to feel free to buy white Doc Martens anyway, should the mood strike.
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This was written for Genie’s monthly Living Out Loud project. Please check it out, read some of the other fantastic entries from the past 14 months, and think about writing one of your own!
April 1, 2010
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Jen · 
15 Comments
Tags: life, living out loud, self, shoes · Posted in: Uncategorized
15 Responses
I remember that shoe store in Georgetown – that other one with the window full of Doc Martens. They also sold Creepers and I accompanied many friends there while they bought punk rock footwear. I didn’t get my first pair of Docs until I was 21. Ben bought me a pair of maroon six holes from that same store. My dad called them lesbian bus driver shoes, but for me, they were one of the best love tokens I had ever received. Ben knew me well enough to buy me shoes – kick ass shoes. I bought him a pair of Docs as an engagement present. Our relationship is built on Docs.
Wonderful post.
I actually bought my Dream Wedding Boots. They were knee-high white leather Gripfasts. I paid for them one year with my tax return, because I’d always wanted them, and it was a reward for being old enough to make my own decisions on what I was going to spend my hard-earned cash on.
They got ruined a number of years later when, as I hurriedly moved out of the house I had shared with a disastrous failed relationship, I put the box in storage beneath a wet part of the basement. There is probably some symbolism there, but I don’t want to be too heavy handed about it.
Megan, thanks! I eventually did get my first pair of Docs there, just straight-up black 8-holes. Right now I have a pair with a rose pattern that I love. I still love Docs. That is a fantastic story about you and Ben!
A friend of mine later let her bridesmaids wear whatever footwear we wanted, and I got a pair of Fluevog Angels. I tripped on my damn bridesmaid dress but boy did I love those boots!
Angela, I’m pretty sure if I’d seen those boots at a time when I really did have the hard-earned cash to pay for them, I would have gotten them. But for once, once! in my life practicality won out. I might be celebrating that a bit too. =)
Oh darlin, I loved reading this – it was sweet, romantic, and funny. And the bit about not hanging emotional expectation on articles of clothing was wonderful.
About wedding shoes – mine were a pair of white lacy uncomfortable heels bought on sale for like 20 bucks because I couldn’t find any cheap cream colored ones and I needed something – I’m sure my mom would have killed me if I’d walked down the aisle barefoot. I wore them for the ceremony, and went barefoot for the rest of the day. For me, shoes are totally overrated.
Thanks Christine! Sorry it took me so long to approve your comment – can’t do it from work anymore! Anyway, once I’ve approved one from you you’re good for future ones. Anyway!
Yeah, I was never a shoe girl the way some women are shoe girls. But somewhere along the line I learned that shoes could look nice and be comfortable, and that I never had to wear heels if I didn’t want to. Once I learned this my life got a lot happier, and my shoe collection got a little bit bigger. =)
i worked for most of the 80s in georgetown — at the corner of 31st & M Streets at The Kite Site. we were many block and a whole geekitude away from Commander Salamander. still, i remember going in… once or twice. ’twas a bit more extreme than i was — i was far more into the incredibly kewl music being played by WHFS all of my kitesite shifts. (it was like getting paid minimum wage to earn an new wave music education)
i must admit, i’ve never, ever understood the fascination some women feel for shoes. they cover the feet, keep your soles from hurting when you step on something painful to bare skin, and, well, that’s about it, really, isn’t it? me, i have a pair of hiking boots we bought before the first UK trip that i wear to werk and a pair of thrift store tennis shoes. that’s it.
still, i loved your story here. and i can’t imagine your mom & dad’s reaction to $120 white boots from Commander Salamander.
…
That store- whose name I also cannot remember, even if I can still see that Wall of Doc Martens in my minds eye- is where I got my first pair of Docs. I remember walking to the gleaming gold-domed Riggs, withdrawing *all* of my money, and then buying a pair of blue suede Docs that I wore for five years, until I actually walked a hole in the sole.
There was also a dark, smoldering (engaged) singer involved, but he just brought me to the store. And loaned me $20.
Tom, Commander Salamander was never my scene exactly, but I think that at that time I didn’t know what “my scene” should be. And that place was considered cool by some people I considered cool so…
It’s hard to explain the shoe thing. You won’t believe it after this entry but I really don’t have it to a very great degree. I didn’t get it myself for a long time either. I think when I discovered thrift stores and inexpensive Chuck Taylors in weird colors, I stopped seeing shoes just as foot-coverings and as additional modes of expression. I own more pairs than I need but not a LOT more than I need.
Sounds like a good story, kobi! And why can’t ANY of us remember what that place was called? I think it was gone the last time I was down there too. It was near Smash…
Ben thinks that store was called “British” something. I remember it was owned by some smoothly dressed Middle Eastern guys.
Darling story. Loved it.
white satin Doc Martens? who would have thought…?
Thanks, Peg!
Yeah, Rachel – white satin! Patchwork! I really do think it was an ’80s thing. Like, the Docs that Molly Ringwald would have whimsically designed in a John Hughes movie…
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