I remember really wanting a pair of Paul Rodriquez’s 8th Nike shoe. That was back in 2014 when I was rocking the Koston 2’s. A staple in my college shoe rotation. My black pair with the gum bottom truly got mashed up. I remember seeing the 8’s on skate websites and loving the silhouette. They were sleek and techy. The upper was something off a football boot and coupled with the ridges of the Lunarlon midsole, they just looked sharp! Not to mention the sole itself which had a heat map of your feet’s pressure points. I was sold. The blue and black colourway was the first to come out which I wasn’t too keen on. I had to bide my time for the right colourway to come about which it did, the Shield edition.
The orange hits with the 3M detailing, it was me all over. I waited and waited for a UK12 to go on sale but alas, I never found a pair. I eventually settled for the “Blackout” pair. It was simple but I was mainly in love with the design, so I wasn’t too bothered. I found a pair on a skate website going for about £75 which given the over £120 price point, wasn’t too shabby.
They arrived and went straight on feet. I was moving to Bristol soon for university later that year and they were coming with me. Whilst I loved the look of them on-feet, I struggled fitting them with my then – trouser situation. In 2015 I was donning the finest Zara jeans that weren’t spray on skinny by any means but weren’t baggy either. The cheeky Nando’s vibes were certainly a lot stronger back then, that’s for sure. Having big feet also meant that trousers would certainly make a difference in creating a smaller looking shoe. Nevertheless, they got their fair share of wear (that rhymes) because of their simple colourway.
It was fresher’s week (lads, lads, lads) and there was an 80’s themed dress night at a club down the road. The club was fairly – big so a large portion of potential future Uni mates would be there. I struggled finding an outfit at first, finally settling on my classic blue Zara jeans, a Puma top that I had bought for the gym and my P-Rod’s. The top was a dark blue with a neon-pink Puma logo which I clearly thought, “yeah, 80s that”. Just in case my outfit legitimacy was questioned, I rolled up my trousers to reveal my white Nike tube socks. I was unquestionably 80’s at that point, the night was mine.
We arrived at the club after a 45 second walk. It was busy and the queue was large. I made it to the front where I remember the bouncer giving me a strange look. I thought he was eyeing me up as a potential aggressive youth, a troublemaker, so I just smiled when he handed back my ID. In hindsight, I should have taken that as a signal to go home and save my nostalgic outfit for another night. Alas, I continued on into the depths of the club.
The people I was with hit the dancefloor. It was chart music galore. “Where was the 80s hits” I thought? It was then that I learnt that these Club night dress codes were a big sham, the naivety of my 18-year-old self. The group I was with formed a circle right at the front and started busting out their finest moves. I was cringing. This was not my thing. “I’m too cool for this”, I said to myself, neon-pink puma logo beaming from my chest. As the hours went on, there was luckily a decrease in the number of dance-off circles formed.
The end of the night was near and there weren’t as many people about. I had spotted a girl I recognised from a few towns over. She was dancing with her mate. Noticing I was getting a few glances, I slowly made my way over. There was a small space between the two groups now. I just needed to wait for the right moment. As I was closer, my outfit was consequently more visible. She glanced up and down, scanned the puma top and kept going. The top hadn’t put her off, so surely I had a chance. It was at that point that she noticed the combination of my white Nike socks and my all-black P-Rod’s. Her eyes stayed there for a few seconds. “ohh yeah, she knows her crep’s, lets go” I thought. I was wrong. Completely wrong. I’m not sure I recognised her facial expression, but I knew it wasn’t a good sign. Thinking back, it was somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. Seconds after she pulled that face, she whispered something to her mate and they both walked off. That was it. I had been pied. Never a fun moment for a man but it’s even worse when she’s put off by your shoes. It’s even more of a sour feeling when you consider yourself a sneaker head. After that night I stopped wearing the P-Rod’s for quite some time. They had betrayed me.
Since the summer of 2016, they have in fact been sat at the bottom of my cupboard. 6 years of imprisonment because of one failure. A harsh punishment, but apparently the price a shoe must pay for letting their wearer down. I can now say, as I am wearing the actual pair right now, that I have moved on. My P Rod’s and I are ready to take on a whole host of new outfits this year. I have made peace with the memory and the crep’s themselves. Life moves on.
Upon finishing this story, I just remembered another tale where my crush laughed at my P-Rod 7’s on mufti day, perhaps I should stay clear after all…
wear shoes, write poems 