Tag Archives: abandoned shoes

Shoes

Shoe Spotting In A Small West German Town

1 Comment

I went to my Uncle’s 60th in Germany the other day. It was a wonderful affair. Apart from celebrating, I thought it an apt opportunity to look out for abandoned shoes. Although I was travelling with family, meaning finding time to wander would prove difficult.

We took the car to the Euro Tunnel to get over to mainland Europe. Big slay. The journey started off on the right foot (pardon the pun) thanks to one discarded DC high-top sitting next to the awaiting cars. Either some Roadie had decided to part ways with it before starting a mind-bending metal tour in the EU or some kid lost it by sticking his foot out the car window. I’m think either excuse would suffice.

Unfortunately, this would be one of only two shoes I would come across during the weekend trip. Many shoes were dotted along the roadside but due to the fact that we were whizzing past in the car, I was unable to snap a photo in time. I did however notice an awful lot of flip flops, or thong sandals discarded along the French motorway.

Perhaps the Havaianas R&D team would benefit from a European road trip. Equally, any influencers promoting the latest #toesoutsummer trend might benefit from this excursion. Side note – is the flip-flop and jeans look authentically Scandinavian or is it a move from the ruling class so people forget they’re losing more money to taxes each year by the distraction of toe action. Suspicious right?

Needless to say, little to no abandoned shoes were photographed. Later that evening we found ourselves in a cash-only German dive bar. It was there that I spotted the most typically German footwear left on the tiled floor. Underneath the bar stools lay a heavily-worn pair of Birkenstocks, the Arizona to be exact. I didn’t get to find out to whom they belonged to either as they sat there alone the whole time.

I imagine the owner of the Birkenstocks was a local, someone who frequented the bar and enjoyed feeling the grooves underneath their toes that they put in the hours working for. My only other thought is that they were a memoriam to a bar-legend, but I was not willing to find out if they were glued to the floor. ‘Never touch another person’s Birkenstocks’ is a good rule to live by.

The next morning I retraced my steps around the town I had so often visited as a child. Walking down memory lane. All the toy and shoe shops seemed so much smaller than I had remembered. I suppose this is the usual realisation for places people rediscover later in life. I loved it all the same. In fact, it had become more charming a place than I had remembered.

My Uncle, reluctant to splash out on a pair of shoes for my other Uncle’s party asked if I knew of any shoe repair shops in the area. While my shoe knowledge is extensive, I would be lying if I said that I had a sixth sense for where cobbler’s dwell. If I did I’d probably be rich. Or arrested.

A quick Google later and we were in the first cobbler’s. A middle-aged German lady looked us up and down, realising we weren’t the usual clientele. My Uncle, pointing at a loose stitch on his forefoot, gestured for help, to which the lady pulled a face and said, “no sorry”.

Not wanting to have completely wasted the journey, I asked if I could take photos of the shop, which she politely invited me to do. I spotted a very snazzy pair of women’s shoes and asked if she knew the brand name. She shrugged, “I don’t know, I only repair the shoes.” A lady of few words. Germans are known to cut to the chase, allergic to dancing around the point, so I took no offence. Onto the next.

The other shoe repair shop was in the local mall a short stroll away. The man’s shop was small in comparison, more like a pop-up Timpson’s equivalent, although with fewer ex-convicts as staff members. Noticing we were interrupting a friendly catch-up with a local on a Saturday morning, we were hesitant about receiving help.

My Uncle did the same one-shoe dance, pointing to this somewhat broken shoe in his other hand. An animated point of the finger later and the German cobbler shook his head, “No sorry”. It seemed to be an easy response to fending off the English. They know we can never be offended if there’s a ‘sorry’ on the end of it. E.g. “I burnt your house down, sorry”. To which the standard reply would be, “All good, how’s the family anyway?”.

It was at this point that my Uncle conceded to buying a new pair, so off on a shoe hunt we went. Heading over to the next town, a place which had a bigger and better selection of trainers, spirits were somewhat high. Recruited as an impromptu celebrity shopper/stylist, I fuelled up on a mango and watermelon ice cream. I was on holiday after all.

A lot of shops were full of very German-looking leisure shoes. Think Clarks but on steroids. Better yet, Clarks on a mild dose of antidepressants. It was here that I spotted a pair of formal leather walking Strober shoes. I knew little of the brand, but the shoe was so Grandpa, I was infatuated with it.

Suddenly ,my penchant for dad jokes and white socks made all the more sense. The only thing holding me back was the 99.95 Euro price point (discounted from 199.99 Euros), and the fact that my mum told me in a Peruvian-equivalent way that I would ‘look like a geriatric’.

Could I pull them off? I truly believed in that moment I could. A pair of loose sporty diabetic-friendly socks and some beige chinos, chef’s kiss (FYI I don’t have diabetes but I did accidentally buy a pack of diabetic socks in 2018 off Amazon, hence the reference). In hindsight, I am rather glad I didn’t end up purchasing them as it meant I could justify the pair later on.

It was wandering around where I saw this golden boot (not a reference to Headie One’s hit song) and other silver baby shoes. I feel like if I got to the level where I justified buying these as house decorations, I would truly be ‘cooked’.

Here is an interesting sock packaging that I spotted in a souvenir shop. It was a very Japanese present in my mind. Would you be happy to receive this from your partner on Valentine’s Day? Let me know in the comments as I cannot figure out if these are a big yes or a big no.

My Uncle did successfully purchase a pair of shoes for the birthday party the following day. Opting for a Bugatti formal/sporty shoe hybrids in a light brown, the mission was a relatively fun exercise. Even if he didn’t go for the more hybrid sole pair I was vouching for. They looked in the vein of the Nike Cole Haan hybrids from the early 2000s where you would get a formal shoe sat on a Lunarlon midsole.

image via Pinterest

Had I ever ended up in the finance industry, I’d have got a doctor to write me a note so I could wear these. That’s where the diabetic socks would have really come into play. In fact, maybe I should buy another pack for future health-related excuses. Is it a hate crime to dislike someone with diabetes? If not it should be.

Getting back to the hotel, I decided now was the time to go for a wander while the rest of the squad went to nap. Darting straight for the local sports shop, I was eager to relive my childhood-sneaker epiphany by going to the sports shop that started it all. The only problem was I couldn’t remember which one it was or if it was still open. Regardless, I headed to the nearest Intersport hoping memories would come flooding back.

Solid Brooks running shoe selection at the local Intersport

Entering the shop triggered a deep sense of nostalgia. A distinct memory of helping my mum and auntie buy my cousin a pair of adidas football boots returned to the front of mind. Tracking through the racks, it was clear that the shop had a decent running shoe selection. I pored over the prices and sizes on display for almost thirty minutes before heading to the other side of the store where the hiking shoes were kept.

It was then that I spotted the Meindl glowing from afar. Long had I thought about this premium hiking shoe. It’s understated leather upper bowed in elegance and silently spoke to its marvel of German footwear making. I had strolled into many Outdoor shops in the UK to only stare at the high price point of the Meindl footwear selection.

Paying £175 was out of the question, yet the suede and tightly woven stitches called my name each and every time. Not to mention the leather GORE-TEX edition, which reached as high as £220. Now it was all making sense, acknowledging the top-tier quality and the way it poked its head above the rest. The 250 Euro price point was eye-watering but I was eager to find a way of making it happen.

on-foot shot of the Meindl Caracas in brown leather GORE-TEX
The moment two stars had collided

I discussed the shoe with the Intersport employee, where she took out the insole to see how my foot fit against it. Opting for a bigger size to allow for any foot swell during a hike (hot I know) I went with the UK12.5.

I also decided to go on the obstacle course, feeling no pinch points across the stone edges and wooden logs. I felt like a man in his forties testing out a pair of shoes for a grand adventure. Although I am still in my twenties, I am not the head of a family or a father to any children, so I was coasting on pure adrenaline (a slight exaggeration and artistic license are used here). I was in my element. I felt awesome, as the Americans would say.

The store assistant left me to umm and ahh as I tried to figure out how on earth I could bring down the price. One University discount, size-related discount and cash deposit later, the card machine read 140 Euros. I had won the game of life (or thereabouts).

in-hand shot of the Meindl Caracas in the brown leather

Walking out of the store, it was obvious that the stars had aligned. Not only had I returned to the mecca of shoes, the place that started it all (to be confirmed), but I had also managed to pick up the Made in Germany Meindl’s that I had wanted for years. Elated, I felt it was right to snap a photo and capture the moment.

Miendl Caracas in Germany

Feeling a strong post-success hunger, I decided to walk to a fine kebab shop where I was able to pore over the quality upper in the town square. You can see the slightly confused lady in the background, either that or her face is one of pure envy. You can decide for yourself on that one.

The next day I told my cousin about purchasing a pair of Meindls. He laughed, stating he only knew that avid German hikers wore them, not really hip people in their twenties (not his exact description). I asked if he would ever own a pair, to which he replied, “If you ever saw me pushing a stroller in them, you know I am near the end.” I think the German craftsmanship was lost on him. Needless to say, I am absolutely chuffed with them and they look grand on foot.

Fond memories, cheap bakeries, good value double Espressos and a wander down my footwear-related past meant I was made up.

kicking it back in the New Balance 996 Grey and Nike Air Max Torch IV
My Dad and I posted up on the block (like a lowlife?)

Poetry, Shoes

Shoes Poems 007: velcro shoes

Leave a comment 
Do you feel complete?
What do you mean?
Complete.
Huh?
Finished.
No I wouldn't say so. Do you?
I don't think so.
How can you tell?
That's a good point.
We're not even thirty.
Are people complete at thirty?
I don't think so. People have meltdowns at thirty.
People are always having meltdowns.
Not like the ones you get at thirty.
How would you know? You're 24.
I've seen them. On the train, the supermarkets, you can see it in their eyes.
So now you're a meltdown expert?
No. It's just obvious.
Look at that man over there.
Which one?
The guy with the denim hat. Does he look happy to you?
Sure. Yeah he does.
Look closer.
I don't want to get up though.
Not like that silly, with your eyes. Really look.
Hmm he's wearing velcro shoes.
And?
And that means he's a man child.
No.
Okay what does it mean then Mr meltdown. 
It means he's in pain.
Righhhht. And how did you come to that conclusion?
Well, no one loved him enough to tell him how to tie his shoes when he was younger.
Because he has velcro shoes?
Yeh, and when he puts on his shoes he is instantly reminded of his childhood loneliness.
I think you're reaching.
I don't think I am. Does anyone you know own velcro shoes in your life?
Not that I can think of. Oh wait, my grandpa used to have velcro shoes.
Well there you go. 
What do you mean, there you go? He had arthritis.
So he was in pain.
I mean I guess.
And therefore he was unhappy.
No. He was unhappy at times because he missed my grandma.
Either way. He was in pain and he wore velcro shoes.
There is no correlation.
That's what he wanted you to think.
Right, so all kids wearing velcro shoes are unhappy too are they?
Yep.
Now you are lost. They just haven't learnt yet.
Learnt what?
Learned how to tie their own shoes.
Because?
Because they're too young.
You can never be too young to tie your shoes.
Says who?
Einstein.
Now I know you're lying.
He learnt to tie his shoes at two months old.
So he was baby wearing shoe laces. Lies. 
No lies here m'dear.
Everyone knows Einstein was chronically sad though.
I didn't.
Well now you do Mr Velcro shoes.
I would never have been able to tell with his tied shoes.
Great.
More to the point. Where are your laces?
I don't want to talk about it.
Shoes

Shoe Spotting In Manchester

Leave a comment

I headed up on the Friday afternoon in a pair of New Balance 996. An apt choice considering I’d be walking down memory lane in both senses of the term. There is likely a street called “Memory Lane” in Manchester. That said, I did not see it.

NB 996s laced up, a shoe considered the connoisseurs’ choice within the community, I made my way up to the red brick city. It was a while until I came across my first pair of abandoned shoes.

After celebrating my mate’s 30th birthday, Sunday was somewhat of a struggle. Breaking out of the hangover slump, I trekked over to Victoria Baths where the kilo sale was. On the route I came across these youth-sized Nikes. Whether they were actually discarded or not I am unsure. Sat suspiciously close to a set of bins, it was also safe to assume the owner was ready to part ways.

I eventually made it to the kilo sale fair. Disappointing. No stripey jumpers. At least no really cool ones. It was, however nice to be back within the old bathing halls. I soon left and an hour later scoured the bookshelves of a charity shop. Picking out a book dedicated to fixed pedal riders, I spotted a wonderful ode to a pair of beaten up ASICS. Its outsole had been smeared through months of functioning as an impromptu break. Look at the trainers of fixed gear enthusiasts and they will likely tell the same story.

Picking up a case study guide to the Bend It Like Beckham movie, I hoped to find more behind-the-scenes photos of the film. Predators, adidas Superstars – often highlighted by IG mood board accounts, the book could deliver on never-before-seen images. Alas, the book left much to be desired. Snapping up a photo of a young Kira Knightly sporting Predator boots was the best the book had to offer, leaving it tucked between a collection of old ‘80s Rock magazines once more.

Walking around the centre, I had spotted a seriously quirky set of door handles to a hotel. Silver Boots for door handles could just be the first addition to my future house. I am relatively certain my future wife would approve, let alone allow such a feature on our front door. I’ll have to settle on them being used for the lounge, or failing that a cupboard full of shoes. I think the idea sounds a lot better as just that, an idea.

I think the main concern would be finding a wife first. Maybe I’ll endorse the silver boots as a fallback plan. A symbol of self-defeat. A sign that I have signed up to the idea of life as a single man for the remainder or my days on earth. They were kind of hideous in hindsight. But cool too! Hideously cool? Anyway enough about myself…

Picking up a copy of the Nike x Phaidon Look Good, Feel Good, Play Good in Unitom was how I found out that a fellow stockroom alumni was a published photographer. Featuring in one of his books that detailed a number of Japanese of women captured via polaroid. Among the scantily clad ladies I spotted an interesting photo of a pair of OG Neon 95s. As an actual icon of footwear design, the 110 has been shot countless times. Yet this was the first time I had spotted the shoe paired with a pink vibrator. I suppose it goes back to the old saying – if it can exist, it probably does.

On the walk back from town, it suddenly hit me how much rubbish was dotted about the streets of south Manchester. I’m unsure if I had become conditioned to it during my time living in the city, but during this visit I could not help but notice it everywhere. This did work to my advantage, providing me with two more pairs of abandoned shoes to bring up a total of three during my long Sunday walk.

Making my way to the area of Ancoats I noticed a pair of black and white Adilette’s hiding in a bramble bush. How or why they were there is anyone’s guess. Being a fan of the Atlanta-based legend Future, my mind instantly drifted back to a classic post in The Basement post where a girl burnt her boyfriend’s Gucci Flip Flops.

Granted this version isn’t as cool, but throwing away your ex-lover’s Adilettes is a power move. Think of the amount of time he spent in them in his flat aka his safe space, to then brutally designate them to a life in a lonely Ancoats bramble bush. God giveth and God taketh away. Revenge is a dish best served cold as they say. Oh, he cheated on her in this hypothetical example if that wasn’t already clear.

As I was trying to get a clear photo, a wonderful example of the hip Ancoats couple walked past. Hearing one of them chuckle at what was likely me photographing a littered bush, I couldn’t help but wish them a similar fate. I hope he doesn’t get too comfortable with his flip flops. I am acutely aware that I was playing out another cliché of the Ancoats creative don’t worry. Although I question how many of those said creatives have stopped to admire this bush (pause).

Further on, I identified some black boots strewn away by a set of typically red brick flats. Being on the other side of a black metal fence and just having walked past two questionable characters, I did not dedicate much effort trying to pap them. Conscious that I was giving off ‘fed behaviour’ by photographing a possible trap house or worse, a murder site, I swiftly moved on.

The following day I headed away from the city centre and into the suburbs of Didsbury. Spending a large portion of time in The Art Of Tea book shop, I came away with a great set of images.

Mostly from a Women’s Bodybuilding book from the ‘70s, the pages full of images of Laura Combes training. Now while her physique was a testament to her relentless work at the church of iron, that was not the focal point of my interest. Laced up on her feet was what looked like a New Balance 730, a shoe I had recently purchased myself.

Worn by Andy Warhol, it is a testament to the NB 730s utilitarian design, favoured by the athlete and artist. One thing about ‘tennis shoes’ during that era was that wearing them outside the realm of sport was a new concept. Seldom had they been comfortable or cool enough, since the ‘60s saw the introduction of the Chuck and finally a move away from the minimal design of the Plimsole. Seeing real use cases such as on the feet of Bodybuilding icon Laura Combes is exactly what I live for. It is another reason why accounts such as @Trainerspotting has blown up over the years. Granted, the account often focuses on celebrities, but people still love seeing the shoes worn in real-life contexts. In the ’60s and ‘70s people bought these new models because they thought one thing, ‘those look cool’.

There are only two photos which feature Combes wearing another shoe in this bodybuilding guide, the Nike Wimbledons or Court edition (Blazer perhaps). A fat retro Swoosh across the sidewall, a toe tip and bar laces scream out the ‘70s. Not to mention the shot of her getting in some behind-the-head lat pulldowns, just more proof that her upper back would have been uncontestably shredded under the lights.

That sporting or bodily health section provided ample insights into the world of women’s fitness during that 70s and 80s era. Books that would have been swept up by Sporty & Rich founder Emily Oberg had she been the one digging. I grabbed a photo of this lady focusing on her calf raises, yet the shoe brand evades me – likely a domestic company that had a solid share of the fitness market but has since been liquidated.

In another fashion section I picked up a gentleman’s fashion book from the ‘90s. An era which had men becoming increasingly aware of what clothes to wear. One image stood out from a mile away, showcasing a then-newly released Air Max 97 “Silver Bullets”.

Under the acceptable “Casual Friday” fit, the book reads “If the boss lopes around in Nikes, you probably can too, if not, go with brown leather. If you’re the boss, wear what you damn please.” Ahhh the era of strict office attire, one I fortunately have no experience in. If you catch me sitting at a cubicle under some cold light from 9-5, you have permission to “shake me out of it” using whatever method required (bar the use of murder or dismemberment). For now, I’ll stick to writing about shoes.

Currently I sit on the train home. Sun flickering across my face as I write this. It is 17:00 and the sun is setting, life is alright.

Poetry, Shoes

Shoe Poems 006: Everywhere

Leave a comment 
Everywhere you look, shoes are left to their demise. A universal sign of emptiness. Sat in a shop window. Sat by the front door. A pair to pop the to shops in. Knock about the house in. Take the bins out in. Kicked off in the heat of the moment. Dangling from a tree. A rite of a passage. Waiting for repair. Caught in a mosh pit. An impatient child. Lost by someone equally as lost. An angry ex. Too far gone. Too soggy for indoors. A drunken night out. A prank gone wrong. Unwanted waste. All without an owner. Unfinished stories. Open endings strewn across the floor.
Shoes

The Lost Footprints of Lima

Leave a comment
View of the Sea from the cliffs of Mira Flores

Lima is the capital of Peru. A city that everyone has to fly into to get to any and all of the country’s famous tourist sites. Fun fact: Peru is nine times the size of the UK, which gives you a sense of scale. I have only ever scratched the surface when it comes to what the South American contenent has to offer, rendering me anything but an expert so if you are after such knowledge then this may not be the place for you. That said, what I’m writing about doesn’t require you to leave Lima at all. Better yet, it is free. It is certainly not world-renowned like Machu Pichu or as historically significant as Sacsayhuamán, there is no kudos in seeing it, no bragging rights or boasting to your mates down the local boozer about it … the last of which would likely result in a few laughs on your behalf. Although noticing it is commendable or even noting it would speak volumes about your perceptive skills.

Walking around Lima, it is easy to get distracted by the architecture and distinct energy. For most, this will be your first chance to gather a sense of what Peru means to you, at least as far as city life is concerned. Lima’s pavements, sidewalks or la veredas are like any other city in so much as they get you from A to B. The concrete below your feet that interlinks the large metropolis feels like any other. It is hardly a tourist site in itself, a point I would hardly contest. However, if you’re fascinated by all things shoe-related then the streets of Lima might just be a fascinating space to you.

It had been over two years since I’d had the chance to wander its streets. A persistent mist and elderly men with white beards reading alone made up the mostly unexplored canvas of the city for me. Yet upon this visit, it was neither of those things that distracted me, instead, I found my gaze constantly drifting towards the ground below. Footprints pressed into the concrete pavement were frequent, no longer an accident or detail I could breeze past (pardon the pun). I’d never taken notice of this in any other city, a fact made even more noteworthy as I am someone who has a knack for spotting abandoned footwear (another project entirely). Why were there so many footprints dotted about?  What did this mean about Lima and the people who lived there?

Perhaps it was because London’s pavements were built from a different type of concrete, was it that simple? Or was it that the English were too polite? A stereotype of course and an outdated one as London is recognised as a global hub, making it a poor explanation. Maybe it was that the people of London were very adherent to the rules and regulations, the literal red tape that would often surround such a freshly paved sidewalk would clearly be enough of a deterrent … right?

Could it be that the Peruvian government invested more in the public infrastructure? Pouring millions of dollars into the concrete sidewalks of Lima with many of the blocks sectioned off at a time and therefore increasing the chances of accidental footprints happening? This also seemed too simple but I admit there is certainly a logic in this hypothetical. Unlike London, Lima was less rainy which gives the Peruvian people more of a chance to lay fresh concrete … although I think I just made that up.

Was it that Peruvian people, more specifically the Peruvians of Lima, were impatient and therefore more likely to cut corners while traversing the city. Is it just part of the city mindset or grindset? Yet London is a very dog-eat-dog place that has less footprint-covered walkways (this statement is obviously anecdotal as surprise, surprise, I have yet to walk every street in London, or Lima for that matter).

Or was it that the people of Lima were more clumsy and less aware of their surroundings? I could see how consistently great food and weather could contribute to a more laissez-faire approach to life. After all, “watch where you’re walking!” is certainly a phrase that can be heard beckoned by an angry Londoner. Even New Yorkers are known for shouting, “Hey! I’m walking here!”. As far as I know there is not a Peruvian equivalent. This isn’t to say one does not exist as I am not exactly a professor of Peruvian linguistics, if that were the case then I’d have a couple of books to my name.

Was it the lack of literal red tape? I’ve been around Peru long enough to realise that when it comes to construction, things are often not done ‘by the book’. Maybe that book got lost in shipping, left on the shelf or simply not read at all (personally I think it is the latter). Unless under the supervision of some mega construction company, many of the health and safety regulations would end up somewhat flouted. With that in mind, would the tape around freshly laid concrete be completely removed from the occasion? Leaving many commuters around the city vulnerable to concrete-covered shoes. Perhaps there is an inside joke about this among Peruvian people that I will later go on to learn. Here’s hoping!

OR was it nothing to do with Peruvian people at all and in fact all to do with the influx of clumsy tourists. Those jetlagged or broken after walking the Inca Trail would be considerably more inclined to make mistakes.

Whatever the reason, the footprints of Lima are many in number and can be seen sprinkled about. From what I can remember they were for the most part a collection of sports shoe imprints, with few high heels scattered about here and there. It is obvious that it was a vast enough occurrence to trigger a sense of enigma in my mind, leading me to write about it.

I will likely never know or meet the people whose outlined feet are pressed into the capital’s street. I do not mind this, at least as far as the near future is concerned. I cannot however promise that it won’t keep me up at night when I hit the age of sixty. Maybe I’ll be fortunate enough to create a documentary about this one day. You could argue that in a way, these prints are a form of abstract graffiti, one more personal than even your signature. This would inadvertently make Lima a city full of truly unsuspecting Graff artists which although cool, doesn’t fit the bill.

I think there is a logical answer to this mystery but for now I think it is better off remaining unanswered.

If you are ever lucky enough to visit Lima, make sure you look down. If you do spot any footprints be sure to take a photo. Send them in if you do, or if you are actually a part of an underground footprint-based cult then also let me know. But if the cult does any weird stuff then please don’t bother … only do it if it is a space for the hip and friendly!

Thanks for reading this slightly odd thought experiment, one that as a half-Peruvian myself has allowed me to explore my other half (wait that sounds wrong).

Here’s a cute photo of a dog for making it to the end
Shoes

Abandoned Shoe Stories

1 Comment

When browsing the web for more hidden books on footwear, I came across a rather interesting magazine on Onitsuka Tiger. Among the photos in the advertised post was an image that detailed an assortment of shoes all of which had a red piece of string tied to them. Fascinated by this photo, I would soon learn that this was an exhibition created by a Japanese artist called Chiharu Shiota. In her piece called Dialogue from DNA, Chiharu viewed footwear from a perspective I’d never considered before, finding how “objects can contain the air of an absence, about how nothingness often speaks volubly about objects and people.”

Photo by Sunhi Mang

“One of Shiota’s favorite works is an assortment of used shoes that she collected from various people in her neighborhood in Osaka. “I asked them to write out little histories attached to the shoes, and the result was extraordinary,” she says. “I got messages about how a woman wore a particular pair of black pumps on the day of her husband’s funeral, about a girl who had worn a pair of sneakers on the occasion of a break-up with her boyfriend. Some of the shoes were battered and had holes, others were crushed and looked like cabbages; others were practically new but a little sinister-looking.” Shiota displayed the shoes in such a way that they looked as though their owners had just left them there temporarily, and would soon be back to wear them and stride out the door.” – Page 50 Onitsuka Tiger 60th Made Of Japan. (Words by Kaori Shoji. Photo by Sunhi Mang.)

I recognised this view myself, having photographed abandoned footwear since my trip to Peru back in 2022. I think what sparked it was when I spotted a sandal being ingeniuously used as a door hinge. At that point, the object had transformed into something I had never realised it could be. During the time it made me chuckle, but since I have taken it to be a revelatory moment.

My version of Homer’s infamous epiphany

Since moving to the Big Smoke I have found myself taking photos of any discarded shoes that I have come by, all in the hope that I can one day include them in my book on shoes. Giving people a multi-layered approach to the vast world that is the objects that go on our feet.

A pair of Nike Lunar runners left at the bottom of a communal bin in Manchester (June, ’22)

To a certain degree, shoes are the only item of clothing left that truly reveals who we are, at least when it comes to the Western world and the generation born in the 90s upwards. Similar to what Yohji Yamamoto was saying in Wim Wenders’ documentary about him, the days when you could tell someone’s profession by what they wore are long gone. A shoe says a lot about someone, even more so when they are not being worn by said person. Whether someone is shy or confident, how they walk, their beliefs, their ability to dance the night away, their priorities and their insecurities are all tied onto that person’s foot at the start of the day.

Clearly this person’s priority was for their feet to stop hurting. Bun heels.

However tempted I have been to pick up these discarded trainers or sandals, I realise that it would not be practical in the slightest, especially because I already own more shoes than the average person. So having considered the moral and even hygienic aspects of taking all these objects, regardless of if I end up hosting what could be a similar exhibition to Shiota’s Dialogue from DNA, I have decided it best to stick to a digital perspective (…at least for now).

Where Shiota has asked the person who donated their shoes to add a storied note, I will have to stick to a combination of simple facts as well as a sprinkling of artistic license. Where I found the shoe, the type of day it was, what mood I was in, what brand and year the shoe is from are all questions which first spring to mind.

A knit-based shoe washed up on the shores of Huanchaco, Peru (Feb ’22)

If you do know of any picturesque pieces of footwear that have been thrown away on the streets of London, then by all means drop me a message or better yet, send in a shot that you took yourself!