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Relationship Killers

March 27, 2010

I write to you now in a moment of deep ambivalence. Actually, it’s not really a moment, but a larger overarching existential question that all of us have pondered and probed at one time or another.

Do you judge a potential romantic partner on their CURRENT footwear? Le sigh. I mean I know the right answer – and I know you depend on me for my unwavering, unflinching adherence to hard and fast rules governing such things – but my personal history is so fully entrenched in grey. Let me illuminate.

My boyf and I endured a long,  stuttering courtship of epic and awkward proportions. He liked me. I didn’t like him. I liked him. He didn’t like me. The typical trope of any 7th grade diary. FINALLY – he got bored and decided to like me again. During this penultimate chapter, he also decided to visit me in New York.

Remember these? That’s what he was wearing when I met him at the bus station (oy).  I still suffer  post traumatic stress to this day. The moment was crushing and debilitating. My weekend stretched before me, once full of hope and promise – now grounded in despair and bewilderment. I ushered the not-yet-boyf  back to my apartment as quickly as possible, furtively dashing along darkened alleyways, as if escorting Quasimodo and desperate not to be seen. Anyways – long story short – he had another pair of shoes in his bag. They were these:

Good. Asics Tiger. Cupid of shoes.

Good. Asics Tiger. Aka Cupid.

Have you ever been so happy to see an Asics in your life? I don’t even really like Asics! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve owned a couple pair in my time – but this? Asics as pinch hitter? As you can well imagine – relief all around. We continued our relationship, and it continues to this day.

Not to say that he still doesn’t have to be rigorously monitored in his footwear – because he whipped out those Steve Maddens of Death at a later date – and while we’re at it – once wore manpris and slip on sport sandles, at the same time. Re-read that last sentence. Right?

So, sure, during that weekend in New York – the work had just begun. But there was a lesson there – that love can flourish amongst Steve Maddens of Death. Ugliness can beget beauty. And while tragedy is never forgotten – and them shoes are tragic – if you have the fortitude – and a spare pair of sneaks – you can and must move forward. So should you judge a  man by his shoes? Probably.

I mean people can change, and more importantly succumb to a total makeover as currated by you- but still – it’s always nice to start with solid raw material. I’m not sure how to counsel you here.  So, to summarize lets look at a classically bad man shoe:

Bad. Deeply terrifying. Ubiquitous.

Oof. That hurts. I mean, are you making out with a guy who wears this? Tough question. Tough love.

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