Climate change and shoes

June 6, 2019

Last week a friend slandered my walking shoes. I tried not to take it too personally, but given the global warming implications of his insensitive remarks, I’ve decided that I have to take a principled stand.

I was camping at Pinnacles National Park with Bruce and another friend, Charles, and during our day hikes I wore perfectly respectable hiking boots. But at breakfast and dinner I felt secure enough – no, I need to be honest here – I felt proud to wear my beat-up, formerly white, low-top, unpretentious tennis shoes. I don’t play tennis, but never mind.

Charles was gracious enough (or perhaps simply unobservant enough) to not comment upon my footwear. But Bruce? He good-naturedly (in his mind, anyway) decided to rib me about the sorry state of my camp shoes. Setting aside the arrogance of his condescending remarks – that’s right, Bruce, I’m talkin’ to YOU – I need to explicate the higher consciousness that informs my sartorial choices. And then you, dear reader, can decide for your discerning self which of the two of us, Bruce or moi, is the more evolved citizen of the world.

But first, a little history is in order.

When I inherited these shoes from my dad in 2007, they were in pristine condition. What I didn’t know, however, is that these sneakers have an allegedly genteel pedigree. I didn’t learn of their venerable origins until one day, while hiking three years ago in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco, a fellow tourist who was walking behind me made a passing reference to my Rockports. I had no idea what he was talking about. It turns out that, according to him, my humble walking shoes aren’t so humble after all. They’re high quality, American-made, sometimes expensive footgear not usually worn by the hoi polloi. But as a card-carrying member of the rabble, I had inadvertently come into possession of a modest status symbol.

This was confirmed upon my return from Morocco when I mentioned to my upper middle class sister Laura that I had just learned that Dad’s shoes were Rockports, a brand I had never heard of before. She laughed at my ignorance, incredulous that I was so clueless about such a reputable product. But then again, Laura sometimes feels compelled to point out my need to upgrade my wardrobe. Knowing that I don’t have a wife or girlfriend to nag me about such important matters, Laura takes pity on me. Kind of like Bruce, only with less ridicule.

Anyway, as a child of the 1960’s I confess to taking a perverse pride in rejecting the consumerism that has infected our modern global culture and damaged the health of the planet. In addition to my, uh……seasoned Rockports, I’m pleased to report that I still occasionally wear hiking shorts that I purchased in 1977. I’ve had to mend them at times, along with one of my vintage T-shirts and other ancient garments, but in addition to keeping my yearly apparel budget at zero, my frugality affords me the opportunity to feel morally superior to people such as the beautifully dressed, rich Asian tourists I saw last week in a Rolex shop in Carmel. I should mention that it was Bruce’s idea to pop into that shop, and I felt obligated to humor him. I must admit that the Rolex watches were as elegant as the finery of the wealthy tourists who were admiring them. But lovely Carmel seemed phony to me. Shallow. Pretty, but somehow empty. At least the fancy stores and their expensive contents create jobs for people. As my previous landlady Judy once said, “If everyone was like you, Dave, then the economy would collapse.” Even so, I still say, let ‘er rip.

But while I concede that I’m being ethically smug in comparing myself favorably to more materialistic and less high minded souls, my self-righteousness feels justifiable. Except when it isn’t.

Next month I’ll be jetting off to Dublin to explore the Emerald Isle, thereby adding months worth of carbon emissions to the atmosphere. Hypocrisy is delightful. I hear that it’s good for the liver. To compensate for my contribution to climate change, I intend to bring my antique Rockports with me for rural walks. My flights might be helping to destroy the planet, but at least my old shoes will ensure that I won’t be doing so with excessive style.