Ape Rifle

In the very early autumn of 2004, as my departure for the London School of Economics rapidly approached, I took stock of both myself and my wardrobe and decided I needed a new pair of shoes. London is a fashionable place you see, full of fashionable people wearing fashionable clothes. After spending two years in mainland China and, well, a lifetime in Canada, I figured my sense of style would surely struggle to measure up to Europe’s mecca of wide-knotted pastel ties and layered, faux-worn street chic. Being a representative of Montreal in the British megalopolis, I would need to show off my hometown’s laidback fashion saavy, full as it is of cool kids doing cool things in cool places. But as an avid walker and regular urban wanderer, I would also need something comfortable and durable. No one looks cool with bleeding feet.

Of course, like countless other urban hipsters before me, I expect my coolness delivered to me on a silver, capitalist platter. Corporations love people like me: I’m looking for that unique and saavy style, and yet I am perfectly content with letting mass production and marketing both imagine and create that product for me. I’m sure there are tons of little funky shoes stores with unique and low-scale designs, yes, but it’s not like I’m going to spend the effort to sort through all of them. Multinational sportswear company, lavish me with your concocted urban ruggedness and tales of spiritual fulfillment! I’ll just make sure to look away when I pass someone wearing the same ‘unique’ shoes as I am.

So this is how I came across the Columbia Tolovanas ‘buffalo casual oxfords” (whatever that means- honestly, who comes up with these names?). They offered me everything I was hoping for: urban chic; subdued simplicity; comfort;heck, even a silly name. I saw them and was instantly hooked. To me, these shoes said, loud and clear, “look at me, I’m so cool that I barely know it”. I doled out the cash, and proudly displayed my new sense of style to, uhm, anyone who actually bothered to look at my feet.

Columbia Tolovanas: New

Looking at those Tolovanas in their impossibly perfect “only for marketing” state, I can just imagine myself standing somewhere in London- probably one of those ‘it’s so rundown it’s actually a super expensive condo’ neighbourhoods- smiling while I vaguely look up at the sky in some pseudo-Soviet propaganda pose of the ideal post-modern, urban youth (maybe I’d have a bag or laptop covered in stickers in there, and obviously I’d be wearing layers of earth tones and be super attractive).

But looking at my Tolovanas now, in February 2006, I can only stand in silent awe of all that they’ve seen, done and stepped in.

You see, in the end I wasted little time trying to be some poster boy for a mythic urban wanderer and ended up being a very real one. My Tolovanas were subjected to a range of pavement,stone, rock, dirt, mud, brush, rain, water, concrete, alcohol and, yes, probably even a drop or two of urine somewhere in there (not to mention whatever else I might have stepped in at some point). More recently, they have been subjected to the street salt ravages of Canadian winters. I took them to shoe hell as they took me through a year of extensive walking in London; a crazy four days in Belgrade; a three-week trip through China;a weekend in Scotland; a ten-day trip through Western Turkey; a beautiful weekend in Paris; two weeks in Brussels (and a day in Brugges); and finally everyday life in Montreal (and also some random side trips that I’ve failed to mention). I honestly think these shoes have seen more than I have.

Although the Tolovanas took a beating, they survived the onslaught. Perhaps this is why I grew to know them, to cherish them, to wear them any chance I got. Sure, the heels were a bit shredded both inside and out, but they refused to smell bad or fall apart. They ceased to be Columbia Tolovanas - those mythical beauties - and instead became, quite simply, just my shoes. In fact, more recently they somehow became my only pair of everyday shoes, rain or shine, sleet or snow, office or bar. In their worn out state I had claimed them as my own, and we were inseparable.

Columbia Tolovanas: Not So New
Of course, not everyone shared my fondness for these shoes. For quite some time now, comments have ranged from the blunt, “you need to get new shoes” to the even more blunt, as in “you look like a bum”. I fought the comments and the questions, and my trusty Tolovanas continued to pound the pavement and snowbanks with me (I did give a little, however, and stopped wearing them in my dad’s office).

Last week, however, the visit of someone very special to me gave me the final push I needed to retire the Tolovanas (I probably don’t need to mention that she was also one of the people who ‘recommended’ that I purchase new footwear). So I returned to my trusty shoe vendor, debating what kind of avant-garde style I want to project in these post post-modern days of early 2006.

And these are the shoes I settled on.

Columbia Kiwandas: New

As I move comfortably into my mid-twenties, I’ve had years now to realize that our world works largely on superficiality. I might be a great guy, but who in a position to give me any sort of responsibility or gainful employment is going to take me seriously if my shoes look like I just slept in a dumpster? As much as I long for the carefree days of youth (well, uhmm, younger than I am now), I might have to keep my hair tidy and make sure my footwear demonstrates both capitalist confidence and a readiness to sell my soul and look good doing it. The Columbia Kiwandas (I swear, who comes up with these names, anyways?) fit the bill. I stayed with Columbia since the tenacity of the Tolovanas showed the Chinese migrants who put them together might have actually known what they were doing. I went with the Kiwanas because I need a suave, more polished leather look while still keeping an ounce or two of urban chic je-ne-sais-quoi in there.

Perhaps, in a deeper sense, my shoes are symbolic of my life, both in its past actions and current choices. The Tolovanas, in their battered state, represent the me of 2004 and 2005, running around the world eyes wide open all the while busting my behind to make sure I produced some good quality work to back up my fancy Masters degree. I barely stopped to catch my breath, and frankly didn’t often much care for the superficiality of my appearance (much to the consternation of some, I’m sure).

The Kiwandas, on the other hand, are symbolic of me in early 2006, as life continues to unroll its uncertainties. I’m a man in search of a bit more stability, maybe even a place to truly call home for a while in which I can gainfully pursue an endeavour in my field and build up both my experience and sense of responsibility. And in our superficial reality, that seems to go with wearing nicer clothes. My carefree youth is certainly no more.

However, the Kiwandas retain in some form that urban wandering look of the Tolovanas; they, just as I, are not quite ready to go completely slick and corporate, if ever. To get out there in the world, do amazing things and maybe help a person or two along the way; that is a fire that still burns inside me no matter how hard I try to extinguish it. The Kiwandas represent my attempt to conform a bit more to ‘established’ life paths and expectations while struggling to maintain the integrity of my own ethics and opinions. Maybe by slapping a little brown leather onto my footwear, I’ll subdue the urge to wander down dusty paths and jostle my way through countless muddy bus stations in the wild hinterlands of our world. Maybe I’ll get a ‘real’ job.

Or maybe, by the summer of 2007, the Kiwandas will look even more battered than the Tolovanas.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 6th, 2006 at 6:25 pm and is filed under Musings on Life, Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.