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I have a pair of boots I bought when I was 14. They look like Doc Martens, but they are actually Hush Puppies (remember those? Fun Fact: they are still around today). I picked them up sometime around 1994 at the Dundee Mall in Illinois. They have been resoled and redone three times, survived countless Chicago winters and New York rainstorms, and just recently went through another round of repairs. Cracked leather, worn soles, but still standing....still original.
They aren’t just boots. They’re a philosophy.
I don’t have a lot of stuff. If there was a fire, I’d grab my family, my wedding ring, and the boots. That’s it. These boots were the first pair of shoes I bought that my feet didn’t outgrow. They’ve outlasted trends, relocations, and probably a dozen iPhone models. I don’t wear them much in Florida, but they’re still part of my uniform — the equivalent of my boardshorts and t-shirts. When others wore wingtips, I wore the boots. Always have. Always will.
I joke that I’ll be buried in the boots and the boardshorts. And honestly, it tracks.
Because here’s the thing: they don’t make things like they used to. These boots weren’t designed to be replaced every year. They were made to last. And I’ve kept them going — not because I’m sentimental, but because they still work. Why buy new when the old is still good?
It’s my own quiet rebellion against the shiny-new-everything culture. Against the idea that progress means upgrading constantly. Why do we need a new iPhone every year? Why do we throw out appliances instead of repairing them? Where did the appliance repairman go?
My boots are a reminder that quality matters. That durability is underrated. That sometimes, the best things are the ones you’ve had forever. They are a symbol of minimalism, authenticity, and the idea that value isn’t always about novelty — it’s about longevity.
So yeah, they’re just boots. But they’ve walked through a lot, and they aren’t done yet.
