Essential Snobbery 101: Sensible shoes for suffering soles

The shoo of the shoes

In one of those chance conversations, you have with friends, I was informed anecdotally that South Africans look at 3 things in an appearance to rate who you are in class, means, and facility. Your shoes, your watch, and your belt. I would suppose this applies primarily to men, and probably women are assessed on different criteria.

In that same conversation, I learnt that someone had gone to attend an interview and on the basis of the shoes and belt worn by the interviewer, the interviewee decided their interviewer was not of the means or mettle to employ them, and so declined the job offer.

Forced into acculturation

Obviously, one might suggest or opine that those appearances can be deceptive, that to judge ability or character by apparel or appearance is not only superficial but silly. Then again, we are products of influences, cultures, communities, and societies in which we live, and by that, might be unconsciously biased by irrational value systems that define status, when they should never be in consideration.

However, by reason of this somewhat unwritten rule, people adapt and try to play the part not so much to deceive, but to elevate the assessment from apparel or appearance to something more nuanced and probably indicative of the person and personality being engaged.

Then there are times when the application of this rule might be deleterious to the objective of being acceptable, where apparent ostentation and gaudiness might exude means but not class, for the quality of being presentable and yet understated is one that demands a finer educational process that comes with being quite comfortable in your own skin.

Good presentation is rarely exorbitant

In terms, you can wear sensible shoes that are clean and polished without them calling out like neon lights, and if you are not on a catwalk, your shoes are probably not the first thing you want to be noticed for. Likewise, the watch, for what is the point of wearing an expensive timepiece if you cannot keep the time? Whilst I am not suggesting one should plumb for the cheap, there is nothing wrong with adorning yourself with the affordable.

Then on the topic of sensible shoes, and I probably know a bit about that because my feet grew 6 sizes from the age of 7 to 15 and getting the right size of shoes after that was one of a bother, for size 12 (UK)/46 (EU) is not in the typically available or fashionable percentile.

There were times my poor feet were shoehorned in too-tight footwear; I learnt to wince in silence until I could throw off the shoes and walk barefoot. I have better options now, and I avail myself of them in good formal shoes and well-cushioned trainers that allow me to walk long distances without the aid of my walking cane.

Looking good for worse

One sight I cannot put out of my mind was one I saw last weekend, this lady stepped out of the hotel with her husband and a crutch in her right arm, a crutch, not a cane, and she was in high-heeled shoes. I could not fathom the spectacle of someone who needed a crutch and then was traipsing our uneven pavement in those kinds of shoes. I had a cartoon playback in my mind of someone falling so badly that the crutch would be replaced with either a wheelchair or a Zimmer frame.

She might have looked presentable at first sight, and yet it was meretricious; we, for the sake of fashion, sacrifice health and well-being. On the spectrum of opinion, the rating was indelibly low; you live and let live. The case for suffering soles in sensible shoes is made, but not many would heed the sensible part.

Samuel Windsor is closing down

Update (8^th March 2022): I visited the new Samuel Windsor website this afternoon and from what I can gather, it would appear our old login details were not carried across into the new ownership and management of the company, and whilst I was offered the option to change my password, it did not seem the right time to do so.

As far as I can see, they only have footwear on display, and I have seen no indication of whether or when clothes would become part of their repertoire. As the prices of things are going up due to inflation or any other factors, I can see a markup of £10 to £15 on what we used to pay for some of the shoes if my memory serves me right.

For now, the new Samuel Windsor is not the place where we used to shop for everything, maybe there is a process in play, but I will continue to provide updates on developments with the company and any other insight, can be posted in the comments below the blog.

To address, the comment that the shoes were made in India rather than what I believed to be in the UK, I have read in their FAQs that the shoes are indeed manufactured in India.

Update (31^st October 2021): I had a comment posted on the 30^th of October 2021 by Anthony Gardiner that Samuel Windsor will be returning under new ownership. The website says as much but we do not have a date as to when the service would return. I just hope the new owners carry on and build on the legacy of the erstwhile owners as I have not been able to find a good replacement for Samuel Windsor. This is really welcome news.

Screengrab from the Samuel Windsor website, taken 31/10/2021.

Successfully delivered somewhere

I was tossing and turning in bed trying to have a nap whilst possibly listening to a radio podcast and having the unfortunate distraction of mobile telephony with its permanent connection to the world when I saw an email arrive in my inbox informing me that, “Hermes (a courier/delivery/logistics company) has successfully delivered your Samuel Windsor parcel.”

I am at home, but the courier did not bother to ring my bell, the parcel was left in our mailroom where an intersexual pilferer of little social grace who has had to be forcefully ejected from our village plied her maleficent trade.

They even sent me a picture of where the parcel was left to the elements of thievery that we hope have been humanely extirpated from our midst. Whilst I would have thought a successful delivery were one where the recipient had verifiably received the goods, especially if they are present to collect the parcel.

Men’s shoes and clothing catalogue

Samuel Windsor, I discovered when their catalogue came with my The Week magazine some 6 years ago, I started with the shoes of exquisite workmanship at an outstandingly affordable prices and thought I have 6 unworn pairs, I have so far ordered 19 pairs, out of which some have been for Brian.

After the shoes, I ordered suits that fitted, jackets, trousers, shorts, socks, and accessories. They became my stockists of menswear, all done online apart from the appalling use of a less than satisfactory courier services of DX Delivery Services and Tracking that just could not seem to complete the task in one go, every time apart from when they delivered to my office.

Samuel Windsor is closing shop after 18 years, the owners are apparently retiring and there is a closing-down sale which inspired my last order that I put through some 5 weeks ago but because of the volume of orders, only arrived today.

Pretty damn good shoes

I am saddened by the exit of Samuel Windsor from the marketplace because I do not know who will be replacing them with regards to our sartorial needs. For the past two years, I have been ordering for Brian and I, we share the same trouser size and even shirt size, not the jacket size though as he is two sizes smaller with the same length of arms that are rarely in stock. We also can get the same shoes; he goes for size 9½, and I am size 12.

I would never have thought catalogue shopping could be classy, sophisticated, and quite affordable along with the breadth of choices we have. Testament to the quality of the shoes was when I had a shoe shiner at the domestic terminal of O R Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg comment on the quality and workmanship of my shoes. He would know and I was proud to say they were handmade in the UK.

There is a likelihood I might put in a final order, getting Brian to choose anything is hard enough, I just usually hope my choices pass the muster.

On wounded knee a screen is shattered

Cracking a screen

I have never had a cracked screen on my mobile phone, probably because I have been careful or just because the phones themselves are quite durable.

I remember commenting to certain friends who cannot resist an iToy that I have never seen an iPhone without a cracked screen, they must be a design feature and there is a business that thrives on replacing screens.

Yet, I have come to that experience and it happened last night, though there is much of a story to tell before we get to that episode. A few days before, I walked into a shop where I had been eyeing a pair of boots but had not decided whether they were for me.

Sizing my foot

On this particular day, the shop had three boots on display and for the very first time, it is strange to walk into a shop and find that the shoes where all the same size and that size is my size. There doesn’t seem to be a good standard measure for shoe sizes, though, on the law of averages, we can settle for Size 12 UK or 46 EU, though I have seen Size 13 UK fitting like Size 12.

When I went shopping for trainers a few months ago, I noticed that shoe sizes could be arbitrary when for a particular brand I was shod with Size 19, that was scary. My feet are long, they are not big and so the pejorative of Big Foot or Sasquatch is just what it is, pejorative.

Shoes matter especially from a childhood where my feet outgrew my shoes before I had worn them in and long before they were replaced, I suffered a lot, so the comfort of good fitting shoes is the banishment of childhood trauma.

Courtesy of Weinbrenner Shoe Company

Fitting the parts

These Undercover boots are no more on the market, sturdy 14-hole boots that demand a new way of lacing them, offering the comfort of ankle support, though not the easiest to slip on or take off. I had not worn them in when I decided to wear them for a journey without a spare pair of footwear.

My first tentative steps were adjusting to the weight of the shoes, the feeling at the shin where I have to pull the tongue to ensure the laces are a bit taut rather than loose, the shaft high up on my leg giving me a clunky feel to a plodding walk until I was well-adjusted to the newness of it all.

The collar is snug, the hem of my trouser leg will slip over the boot and yet when wearing a tracksuit, the track bottoms can be tucked right into the collar, giving a rather militaristic look to things.

Falling on hands and knee

In any case, I had just finished looking at my phone and since I was about to cross the road, I held the phone in my right hand, noticed that the cars had stopped and I crossed. Just as I absentmindedly mounted the pavement or thought I had, I really had not cleared the height either out of getting adjusted to the outsole, I tripped and almost as if I was in a drunken stupor, fell forwards breaking my fall more with my right hand than my left hand.

My left knee hit the ground hard and I was not down for long as my next step as a lady ask if I was OK was to get up and continue walking, thanking the lady for her concern whilst somewhat dazzled by the unexpected accident.

It was then that I looked at my phone and noticed the screen had cracked, it had taken the brunt of breaking my fall. The phone was not damaged beyond repair but I immediately saw that the pattern security lock was not as responsive that I had to change to a PIN code instead.

Nursing my wounds

When I got back to my hotel, I pulled off the boots, took off my trousers and my poor knee was both grazed and bruised, it had bled a bit and it hurt too. I cleaned the wounds but had not first aid kit to tend it. I wrapped tissue paper round my knee, fixed on a towel like a bandage and went to bed until the morning when I would get some antiseptic cream and plasters for my knee.

As my mobile phone is not a popular brand, the screen cannot be easily replaced except if I acquire one off eBay, the intention to replace my phone that I have vacillated about for months has now been forced upon me.

Invariably, I cannot say if it was the boot or plain clumsiness that caused my fall, it happened and that is the tale of the broken screen on bleeding knee.

Caught skipping with the girls again

Between Jim and the gym

Just after my birthday, I thought about it again, the need to keep fit and trim, knowing that the passing of time leaves changes one must have in control before it is too difficult to rein it in.

Having been away from home for weeks, I first had to update my swipe card access to the village gym which has everything including a swimming pool, a sauna and games room. The swimming I have to get to eventually, I have been too much of a log or a stone in water, there is no fun in that.

Knowing me, knowing shoes

Then, I needed to get the best shoes to cushion the effect of running because of lifelong shin splints. My research online yielded lots of information which boiled down to the best shoes that had fitting, quality or durability issues, not one stood out as the best and I was in information overload already.

A visit to the shopping mall with sports shops belonging to chains did not seem to offer much encouragement, I did not see anyone who appeared to have any useful knowledge about running shoes or trainers apart from their projecting the necessity to make a sale to the most gullible customer who dared to believe anything they said.

A size for a length

I took a walk down the main street and happened upon a small family shop that had one customer inside who had tried nothing less than seven pairs of shoes, the attendant, patient, understanding, explaining and serving. He seemed to know what he was talking about as I pulled up my references to guide me in decision making.

It became clear that my shoe size for normal shoes was probably two sizes smaller when trying on trainers, but when I slid my feet into Size 19 shoes, I could only presume something was wrong with quality control or the sweatshop makers of the shoes were making skis rather than shoes.

Eventually, I settled for a pair of the most comfortable and well-cushioned shoes, the fitting was so good, knowing how my feet have suffered through spurts of growth that shoes did not expand to, this is like shoe heaven.

Altogether, with Christmas approaching, I got discount on everything and probably paid 30% less along with free merchandise to boot. I was ready for the gym.

Skipping with the girls again

I then revived my gym membership with The Gym Group with the bundle that allows me the countrywide use of any gym in the group and we were on to an exercise program for the first four weeks and then the next four.

Down in Reading, I registered for an induction that went well before opting for a boot camp class. No gym equipment, just running, jumping and stretching over the course of 30 minutes. The setting reviving a childhood experience as I was the only male apart from the trainer in a group of 10.

My childhood fragility meant I was left skipping with the girls rather than playing football with the boys, it appeared I was back doing things with the girls again. Such is life at the gym.

My life in shoes

My pain in shoes

I know the need for good shoes, well fitting shoes that last. As a child, I suffered from growth spurts, I grew out of my shoes long before I had worn them well.

In the time from the age of 10 when I shared the same shoe size with my mum to when I was 15, I took an extra shoe size for each birthday and my feet suffered for it.

Gifts of shoes where I was not at the fitting simply meant I had shoes that I forced my feet into and suffered painfully in the process. For a year, in secondary, I walked around barefooted, it was more comfortable than to be shod with horseshoes without the hoof.

Finding my comfort shoes

By 15, I was at 45-EU/11-UK and that was a tight fit, there was literally nothing bigger in the markets apart from a few unfashionable shoes. Sandals and slippers were my best bet for a comfortable fit. My feet stopped growing at 16, from then I have comfortably worn 46-EU/12-UK/13-US shoes, just in case you want to go shopping J

Once, my mum came upon a pair of shoes, at just the right size, 46-EU/12-UK, I plod the streets of Lagos with them and landed my first breakthrough job opportunity with a good sense of knowing I was the best person to represent myself anywhere. Then, a friend’s brother who was a shoemaker artisan made my shoes just before I left Nigeria. I had penny loafers, tennis shoes, and slip-ons at my disposal.

In the UK, most shops stocked a maximum size of 45-EU/11-UK, on that rare occasion, you find a couple of sizes larger, or rather, should I say longer, because there is a difference between ‘big feet’ and ‘long feet’; mine are long.

My cave of shoes

Going on Christmas holidays to Lancashire presented an opportunity when we went shopping at the K-Shoes factory shop (now defunct). They had shelves of all sizes and designs up to size 45-EU/11-UK and then probably 30 pairs of shoes altogether for people like me with longer or bigger feet. In all, maybe 3 in my size had a design worthy of giving a second look, I got them all.

At one time, I probably had over 40 pairs of shoes, not out of acquisitive hedonism but for the reason that anything fashionable of my size was just a rare commodity, you could not pass up on seeing something good, even if it was not immediately needed.

Eventually, I gave most of them away, I discovered Doc Martens boots and when my feet began to rot away because of a fungating tumour, a pair of monk shoes from the British Boot Company kept my feet together until the tumours healed.

My peace with shoes

Now, I found out about an online store Samuel Windsor from my The Week Magazine subscription, shoes hand-made in England of the highest quality and at amazingly affordable prices. Obviously, at such prices, you probably would not be disposed to repairing the shoes if, by comparison, you could replace a pair of shoes by the time you visited a shoemaker’s the third time.

When travelling from Johannesburg to Cape Town, I was accosted by a shoe shiner who on starting on my shoes commented glowingly about the quality and style of my shoes, suggesting he rarely sees shoes of that standard. He would know and I was proud to say, they were made in England and did not cost an arm and a leg.

I do not shop anywhere else for my shoes and as long as I have them delivered to my office, I have nothing to complain about the service. I know the value and comfort of good shoes, I suffered enough growing to know that you don’t spare a dime in search of comfort, style, quality, and affordability.

Brought to heel and falling

In shoe paradise

I know what pumps are and anyone male or female who wears high stiletto pumps betrays a sense of style regardless of the hobby or vocation that inspires the person to be so attired.

On reflection, I really thought I knew what pumps were, only to realise that pumps derived from pompes which were originally worn by men and without a heel; they are shoes without fasteners, the back, sides, and toe of the shoes being covered.

Yet, one graphic about heeled shoes revealed a whole new world of heeled shoe knowledge that is just fascinating.

Courtesy of Moda & Estilo (Website down - May 2019)

All kinds of

The Kitten heel is low and full, the Mary Jane suggests a strap over the middle of the foot, the instep, the D’Orsay has the sides uncovered, the Wedge is a full heel without space between the heel and the ball of the foot.

The Mule is like a heeled slipper, the Slingback is a strap at the posterior of the foot above the heel – the Achilles heel, the T-Strap is exactly what it is, then think of the design augmentations, Peep-Toe, Platform, Almond-Toe, Pointed-Toe and so on, which can be variations of shoe design.

However, the one that gets me is the Heel-less Ankle Strap, and add anything to the end of that. Whoever walks in those is ready to break a leg. Lady Gaga sported one of those, but videos of people making heelless shoes for themselves means orthopaedic hospitals might soon have custom. To be honest, they look like cow hooves.

Catching up on the times

Back and out

Busy and pressured best describes the last few days at work which began on Tuesday, much having happened and yet we can expect much excitement for the next few weeks.

Who would have thought that on returning to England after 12 years abroad, the job I will have would involve travelling around mainland Europe for the next few months?

Arranging contracts, travel and other essential things was quite frenetic and the day before I went shopping for boots certified for safety – I had grown to love Doc Martens for their comfort but in my house move, I seem to have given the ones I had to charity.

Boots and routes

I wended my way up to Camden Town to the British Boot Company where price, choice, aesthetics, size and design became the battle of do or don’t. With size 12 feet, it was always going to be a struggle to get one that ticked all the boxes. What I eventually settled on was a trade-off, I had to pay well them because the design I really wanted was not available in my size.

Getting home, much as I tried, I failed that test again, the test of travelling light, I still seemed to get more than I needed packed into my case but nowhere near the excess weight I managed to pack a few months ago.

I got help from my nephew to the station and the change at Hammersmith had me asking a lady to please give up the priority seat for my moving on to the empty seat beside her and I was delivered to London Heathrow’s Terminal 5.

Two rotten terminals

Huge and somewhat inefficient I could appreciate the chaos that greeted its opening. There, I met up with an old friend and my new colleague before I passed through customs and security with the need to take off my shoes – the fun in travel is slowing being taken away with these paranoid security systems.

Everyone knows that Paris Charles de Gaulle airport is in need of a radical redesign, it is not user-friendly, it is humongous but badly planned out, I had to walk almost a kilometre to meet up with other colleagues in those interminable terminals and that was just the beginning of the long evening of incompetence on the part of planners  who got our car-hire booking wrong and sent us out to the wrong hotel by which time so late in the night I ended up just avoiding emesis eating a takeaway calzone because our hotel was in the middle of nowhere.

In another story, I will relay how we all moved to another hotel by the third day. Only now have I had the rest that allowed me to run a good soaking bath. Phew! Some will say.

Holiday Snaps: The scandals and sandals

The wonder of dunes

The sand dunes of Maspalomas in Gran Canaria one of the Canary Islands are a wonder of nature. Lifeless as they seem, the sands shift sculpted by the wind to living expressions of nature, undulating landscapes, curves, arcs and bends that would defeat the construct of any calculus expert.

To walk these sands, you need very good footwear, a pair of good fitting sandals. The ones I wear, I bought from a shop in Berlin over 12 years ago, lots of leather and Velcro grips with hard wearing soles that have been trusty and trusted to handle each climb and descent, round the nature reserve, to the beach or just on the random loiter.

Other footwear

Shoes don’t do it, they get filled with sand making your walk impossible as you take them off every few steps to empty them of sand.

Bare feet in the cool of the day could be good but there are parts with spiky seeds that you do not want to step on, there are times sandals gather so many of those seeds that they become platform shoes of sorts.

Some people walk the dunes in trainers and socks, dumb does not begin to describe the fact that practical trumps fashion sense in this case.

Crocs are a downer

Talking of fashion, the new kinds of footwear sported by some people are called Crocs, whilst they might have ergonomic wearing potential, they are so dastardly ugly, it appears that is their selling point – ugly is the new beauty.

The range of colours have a spectrum of sickly to hallucinatory, if I were shod with those in my coffin, I would sure resurrect for the purpose of taking them off and return to my eternal repose.

Heel and heels deep

When I thought I had seen it all, there came this lady, or was it a man, I could neither tell whether he or she were a female impersonator in drag or a transvestite, it did not matter but walking the dunes in stilettoes was a scandal beyond the topic of sandals, the way she struggled, I was caught between the extremes of empathy and sheer derision.

You almost want to have a spare pair of sandals for the stoned and deranged that wander those sands wrongfully shod and learning no lessons from the fact that they are walking with great difficulty.

Back home

Getting back

Having spent 19 days on holiday, I still had to phone up the travel agency because my arrangement for a hotel-to-airport transfer had been left off the roster.

After a few phone calls, I was told a taxi would arrive to pick me up by 13:50 which gave me a few hours to have breakfast at Moby’s and an hour at the Internet café a few blocks down the road.

Getting to the airport was easy and once I got in line for check-in it was no more like I would be travelling Comfort Class, it was like waiting for dis-Comfort service as the queue for Economy Class moved at almost three times the speed of ours, one could only wonder what was so difficult about checking in the lot of price insensitive people like me who were travelling Comfort Class.

Why do I say price insensitive? I have been reading The Undercover Economist and the scales are falling off my eyes as to how I have been fleeced and cajoled into spending a lot more than I need to for anything I purchase, be it goods or services – a must read for anyone who is looking for a dummies guide economics.

Not back to doors

I was in this ‘shorter’ queue for 70 minutes, but which time I was trying every stretching, yoga or bending move I could think of to alleviate the pain in my back – my cane was definitely not helping here because it is useful for when I saunter or walk but not when one is standing still.

Through the pain, I was offered a window seat, I went through security checks remembering that I had bought a few pairs of shoes for my birthday and consciously decide they would not have fiddly laces but buckles or zippers.

One pair of shoes did have buckles and the other was a pair of boots with zippers down the inner sides – it shows how the encumbrance or rather the inconvenience of travelling through London Heathrow where the strip tease includes taking off your shoes can affect decisions further down the line.

These footwear would be easy to take off and put on, though at one time I wondered if it was not folly to take two new pairs of shoes on holiday without having worn them in.

Below sea level

When I finally got on the plane, I found my window seat was really the emergency exit, I could not see myself doing the doors at 35,000 feet, no, not even at 4 feet with a back like mine.

The air steward eventually persuaded a couple to take up my place and the one next to it as I was moved to a three-seater shared by two.

When we got to Amsterdam Schiphol, it was interesting to see the altimeter read as low as -15 feet below sea level – as it were, it was once a lake reclaimed in 1852 – is it any wonder that God created the world and the Dutch created Holland?

Pride without Prejudice - Berlin

Fake Davids on parade

Probably a mega-container load of imitation Michelangelo-Davids was smuggled into Germany and tipped over in the heart of Berlin’s Kurfurstendamm as sculpted bodies of firm abdominal muscle filled everyone with a political correct green of envy.

Forget the fake Rolex, Jimmy Choo, Louis Vuitton, Dior, Gucci or common Calvin Kline; made in China for a farthing and sold in Europe for a bomb, for the sake of vanity some might just cost an arm and a meal – hedonism is in town.

Six-packs, on floats and on the road like a rerun of I Robot clones masquerading as men, one could almost read a by-line in the gossip columns that made that rather unkind observation, we are growing old and it is showing. Must get the PA to book a lunch date with Dr. 90210.

Show it, flaunt it

It was Christopher Street Day as it is known in German-speaking countries, Gay Pride in others, the whole town could see the flamboyance, hear the noise and it was as good a family day out for a spectacle as any.

It somehow make up for the bare-arsed cheek of a hotel guest who wearing leather chaps forgot to wear denims underneath as he stepped out of the lift to present himself to the public in mooning glory – that beats the sagging trousers, you couldn’t get gob-smacked for it was too impolite an observation to react to.

As we watched the parade, the weather gave way to the forecast, it poured rain like the flood was back, we all sought shelter, but the parade weathered that storm as we empathised about how those perfect bodies crafted in the addiction of gym worship got drenched “to the skin” – they had nothing on top and basically swimming trunks – ditch “to the skin”, they were literally naked.

Well, really, there was too much jealousy in the air to be that concerned, if those bodies dissolved like salt in water we probably would have rejoiced, no end, we would have been the best bodies around.

Dragging the shoes

Meanwhile, many got into their glad rags and most especially those in drag – the clothes were feminine, but no naturally born woman would wear dresses like that – I suppose that is the litmus test between drag and women’s fashion.

I could not help but notice a few shoes and boots, heels so high, you will need a space shuttle to ascend to the point where the feet rest on the in-lays, any normal person would instantly suffer vertigo. As the rain subsided for the semblance of sunshine to reappear, I snapped a few shoes that walk our streets only just once a year.

You will have to wait till tomorrow to see the whole collection. Here is a sampler.