I got this old pair of Chucks I can't throw away. I swear they must be seven years old. I've stood in the back of tiny basement shows in them, graded philosophy essays in my office in them, and worn them to bed more times than I can remember. They're beaten to shit, but when it comes time to donate the old stuff to Goodwill, they always stay put. They get shelved and they get pulled out again. That's our story.

It's not that they fit better than any other shoe. In all honesty, they're not all that comfortable. They're terribly thin and flimsy as all hell. You wear a shoe for seven years, it doesn't have much choice but to fit. And although they've walked me home for the better part of my adult life, presently they're under a pile of laundry six-weeks deep. I've tried dressy shoes, running shoes, hipster shoes, and flip-flops, but I always return to my Chucks.    

I guess in some fucked up way, that's love. I love those old pieces of shit.


  1. I've had three pairs of chucks in my life. I've bought a new pair to mark the times when something extra-awesome happens. So I can tell you the day I bought them and why I did.

  2. I have two pairs. They look like shit and I get a lot of crap for not throwing them out. The same goes for my ripped, worn out Nirvana and weezer T- shirt.
    They come with me. Where I go they go.
    They are part of the package!