July 2007 Archives

For a moment in time, a very brief moment, I was cool. Or so I thought. And so I tried to live accordingly. I rode my bike, and went to parties that started at 11. I took disco naps. I lived in a squalid apartment on Rivington Street, that I paid very little for, though it was still too much, considering I shared it with the roaches.

The shop downstairs was a vintage store, an old school one. It was not one of those precious places, where a gold lame top from the 80's costs 800$. It was the kind of place you had to sift through, but you very well might find that same gold lame top, for 8$. I bought a shirt there once had a picture of a wine glass, a female sign, and a treble clef on side, and read "I've Been to Hell and Back, Grand Cayman, B.W.I" It was ten dollars, and I believed it was the wittiest, most ironic T-shirt of all time. The proprietor of the shop was a cool tattoo'd lady, and long time L.E.S resident, who tolerated eager beaver me. We had been introduced by my neighbor, a D.J named Fancy, who was a ringer for John Waters, and yet, unbelievably, straight.

These shoes sat in the window for a while before I had the guts to go and try them on. The proprietor was kind of mean, and not into crawling into the window to grab anything for anyone, even if the effort might mean a sale. She was too cool for money. I had to convince her I would crawl up there myself. I brushed the cobwebs and the dust away.

The shoes were everything I wanted my life to be. Shiney, groovy, different, trying, but not too hard. They were a little worn, and though in their hey day, I am sure the were very Madonna, to my earnest eyes, they were all Stevie Nicks. The netting is torn, the glitter, mostly gone. But they still held vestiges of their early good looks. They were perfectly worn.

I believed when I bought them that they would become my signature shoes; magical. I would wear them without any irony at all, with skirts, jeans, shorts, whatever. I would wear them to breakfast, and late at night. They would be like sneakers to me. The more beat up they got, the better, the cooler.

But the roaches won. Things changed. They had to. Maybe it was the night I had dinner with some friends, most of whom were hardly more then acquaintances.

"What do you do?" One girl asked.
"Oh, I am in grad school. I am getting my MBA." I replied, trying to be nonchalant. It's hard to be cool while pursuing a masters degree in business.
"Righteous. That is so cool you want to help people. I could never be a doctor. I hate blood." She replied, eyes open wide.

I sighed, and didn't bother to correct her. Soon after I fell in love, moved, and lived happily ever after. I relish my brand of noncool, but I like to remember the time when I tried. That is what these shoes are; a nice reminder.