![Warning: These boots will F your world up!
On my birthday I found a gorgeous pair of vintage brown cowboy boots sitting outside of a brownstone. I could barely contain my excitement. It was totally my birthday, and I just knew they were totally meant to be mine. I held the bottom of one boot up up to the bottom of my shoe to see if they would fit (well, I’m not about to put on a fucking pair of shoes I just found right there on the street!), and it appeared that they did.
It was then that I spotted an attractive late-20s hipster-y dude sitting inside the brownstone and watching me inspect the shoes. Oh My Fucking god. Total embarrassment. I mean I don’t know why - obviously he put them out there for someone to take. Maybe it was just the shock of realizing I was being watched? I grabbed them and quickly walked home with flushed cheeks. Did I seriously just take some janky old shoes from some hipster dude’s stoop? Yes, sadly, I did.
Why was he giving them away? Who in their right mind would ever give these boots away? Were they to small for his feet? More likely maybe they were left at his house by an ex-girlfriend? Maybe they were cursed? Turns out I wasn’t too far off.
Once home my cheeks returned to a normal color and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was all worth it because I now owned the worlds sweetest vintage cowboy boots which I acquired for the low low price of FREE on my birthday. F Yes. I tried one boot on and realized they were actually about 1.5 sizes too big. Of course they were. Vintage boots do not just fall out of the sky for girls like me. I rationalized by saying I would throw some insoles in and rock them anyway, but my boyfriend said I looked like a clown so I pouted and begrudgingly retired them to my closet.
Fast-forward one month. I’m helping my best friend Sarah with her stoop sale and I bring the boots to her in hopes that maybe they’ll fit. If not, we’re thinking we’ll just throw them into the sale. Luckily they fit her. I’ll admit it, I was torn with jealousy. There is definitely no god, I’m thinking, or else I would have these gorgeous shoes! But I can sleep soundly at night knowing that at least one of us can enjoy them in all of their vintage leathery goodness.
So its Monday, Sarah is wearing her amazing new boots when halfway to work in Midtown she realizes she seems a little “hobbly.” She gets to the office and checks and sure enough one heel is drastically higher than the other. Not like a little off - like twice as high. How did we miss that!? So here she is at her job as a fashion designer where she is supposed to be setting an example of good style, and she comes to work in some ghetto-ass boots which were apparently previously owned by a hipster and/or his carnie ex-girlfriend with one extremely short leg and one regular leg. Awesome.
Not easily daunted, Sarah takes the boots to a shoemaker after work and leaves them for him to work his magic fixing the heel, and presto, one week later she’s got the boots back and they’re ready to go. Round two: Sarah is going to wear the boots, once again, to the office where they had previously humiliated her, and she is going to rock them like no one before.
The outlook this time is good. The boots are looking great and feeling better in the morning Brooklyn-to-Midtown rush. [I’ve edited out my version of this part of story, as it was missing some details and had a vital fact wrong.] Here it is as told by Sarah via e-mail:
I thought I had a piece of trash stuck to one boot, so I kicked my foot (wildly, might I add), and the whole sole went flying through the air, right in front of some fancy pants gallery in Chelsea, with everyone and their mother watching (of course) - it even flipped through the air a couple times like a gymnast or something. So I had to run ahead of myself, in my sock, grab the sole, and shove it in my purse. Then I walked the rest of the way with the shell of the boot around my foot, laughing at myself (to fight off the HUMILIATION).
So now courtesy of my “amazing” vintage birthday boot find, my best friend the fashion designer is walking through Manhattan with one normal boot and one boot which only actually consists of the top of the boot and carying the disgusting wet sole. Its only 9am and she’s got a whole day of meetings with corporate designers and buyers while only wearing the TOP of a shoe.
Long story short, she makes it through the day and takes the stupid boots to the shoemaker for the 2nd time, only to be told that this time they aren’t salvageable. I mean they are - but it will cost her $100, and for $100 why not just buy some normal vintage boots which do not have a sad history of possibly belonging to a broken-hearted hipster with a wonky leg somewhere in Park Slope, right?
Sarah met me at a bar in Carroll Gardens last night on her way back from the shoemaker, boots in hand. “You know, I’ve got a good mind to just leave them here by this fucking bench. Let someone else deal with them.” I agreed it sounded like a plan, as those boots had been nothing but hearache for the both of us (admittedly more her than me) and maybe it was time for someone else to give them a whirl. She propped them up in the corner next to the bench and we said our goodbyes.
This afternoon on her way home she walked by the bench and discovered that the boots appear to have a new home, sans sole, which was left behind (photo above). So if you know of anyone in the Carroll Gardens area who has recently acquired a really kick-ass pair of brown leather cowboy boots with only one sole, please pass along the story of the cursed-vintage-heartbroken-hipster-with-one-short-leg cowboy boots. I’ve reblogged the photo from today, in case anyone needs evidence of the boots with no sole.
photo via: sarahisrad](http://media.tumblr.com/QEaXSVTVv5gtsgn29epQUX84_400.jpg)
Warning: These boots will F your world up!
On my birthday I found a gorgeous pair of vintage brown cowboy boots sitting outside of a brownstone. I could barely contain my excitement. It was totally my birthday, and I just knew they were totally meant to be mine. I held the bottom of one boot up up to the bottom of my shoe to see if they would fit (well, I’m not about to put on a fucking pair of shoes I just found right there on the street!), and it appeared that they did.
It was then that I spotted an attractive late-20s hipster-y dude sitting inside the brownstone and watching me inspect the shoes. Oh My Fucking god. Total embarrassment. I mean I don’t know why - obviously he put them out there for someone to take. Maybe it was just the shock of realizing I was being watched? I grabbed them and quickly walked home with flushed cheeks. Did I seriously just take some janky old shoes from some hipster dude’s stoop? Yes, sadly, I did.
Why was he giving them away? Who in their right mind would ever give these boots away? Were they to small for his feet? More likely maybe they were left at his house by an ex-girlfriend? Maybe they were cursed? Turns out I wasn’t too far off.
Once home my cheeks returned to a normal color and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was all worth it because I now owned the worlds sweetest vintage cowboy boots which I acquired for the low low price of FREE on my birthday. F Yes. I tried one boot on and realized they were actually about 1.5 sizes too big. Of course they were. Vintage boots do not just fall out of the sky for girls like me. I rationalized by saying I would throw some insoles in and rock them anyway, but my boyfriend said I looked like a clown so I pouted and begrudgingly retired them to my closet.
Fast-forward one month. I’m helping my best friend Sarah with her stoop sale and I bring the boots to her in hopes that maybe they’ll fit. If not, we’re thinking we’ll just throw them into the sale. Luckily they fit her. I’ll admit it, I was torn with jealousy. There is definitely no god, I’m thinking, or else I would have these gorgeous shoes! But I can sleep soundly at night knowing that at least one of us can enjoy them in all of their vintage leathery goodness.
So its Monday, Sarah is wearing her amazing new boots when halfway to work in Midtown she realizes she seems a little “hobbly.” She gets to the office and checks and sure enough one heel is drastically higher than the other. Not like a little off - like twice as high. How did we miss that!? So here she is at her job as a fashion designer where she is supposed to be setting an example of good style, and she comes to work in some ghetto-ass boots which were apparently previously owned by a hipster and/or his carnie ex-girlfriend with one extremely short leg and one regular leg. Awesome.
Not easily daunted, Sarah takes the boots to a shoemaker after work and leaves them for him to work his magic fixing the heel, and presto, one week later she’s got the boots back and they’re ready to go. Round two: Sarah is going to wear the boots, once again, to the office where they had previously humiliated her, and she is going to rock them like no one before.
The outlook this time is good. The boots are looking great and feeling better in the morning Brooklyn-to-Midtown rush. [I’ve edited out my version of this part of story, as it was missing some details and had a vital fact wrong.] Here it is as told by Sarah via e-mail:
I thought I had a piece of trash stuck to one boot, so I kicked my foot (wildly, might I add), and the whole sole went flying through the air, right in front of some fancy pants gallery in Chelsea, with everyone and their mother watching (of course) - it even flipped through the air a couple times like a gymnast or something. So I had to run ahead of myself, in my sock, grab the sole, and shove it in my purse. Then I walked the rest of the way with the shell of the boot around my foot, laughing at myself (to fight off the HUMILIATION).
So now courtesy of my “amazing” vintage birthday boot find, my best friend the fashion designer is walking through Manhattan with one normal boot and one boot which only actually consists of the top of the boot and carying the disgusting wet sole. Its only 9am and she’s got a whole day of meetings with corporate designers and buyers while only wearing the TOP of a shoe.
Long story short, she makes it through the day and takes the stupid boots to the shoemaker for the 2nd time, only to be told that this time they aren’t salvageable. I mean they are - but it will cost her $100, and for $100 why not just buy some normal vintage boots which do not have a sad history of possibly belonging to a broken-hearted hipster with a wonky leg somewhere in Park Slope, right?
Sarah met me at a bar in Carroll Gardens last night on her way back from the shoemaker, boots in hand. “You know, I’ve got a good mind to just leave them here by this fucking bench. Let someone else deal with them.” I agreed it sounded like a plan, as those boots had been nothing but hearache for the both of us (admittedly more her than me) and maybe it was time for someone else to give them a whirl. She propped them up in the corner next to the bench and we said our goodbyes.
This afternoon on her way home she walked by the bench and discovered that the boots appear to have a new home, sans sole, which was left behind (photo above). So if you know of anyone in the Carroll Gardens area who has recently acquired a really kick-ass pair of brown leather cowboy boots with only one sole, please pass along the story of the cursed-vintage-heartbroken-hipster-with-one-short-leg cowboy boots. I’ve reblogged the photo from today, in case anyone needs evidence of the boots with no sole.
photo via: sarahisrad