Geoff Duncan

It's time to explain Geoff's Theory of Shoes.

I was that awkward kid with "flat feet." Aside from potentially making me ineligible for the military draft (were it to be reinstated) this also means I've spent essentially my entire life wearing rigid orthotics in my shoes: rigid bits of plastic designed to correct the position and function of the foot when it bears weight, such as when running, walking, or standing. I also shattered by heels a couple of times—graceful and athletic I was not—which tended to exasperate other problems. Which led to lots of sprained ankles, crushed toes, and general Bad Foot Stuff.

One of the consequences of wearing rigid orthotics is that, unless your shoes fit perfectly or you lace yourself in so tight your toes turn blue, your shoes squeak. And we're not talking a little rustle or shifting; no, it's squeals and chirps that can be heard from a respectable distance. Sometimes birds call in response.

The good news is that eventually, most of the squeaking stops. This means your shoes are "broken in." It also means your shoes have passed middle age and won't be long for this earth, because the reason your shoes have stopped squeaking is that the orthotics have successfully cut into the shoe, and are now working on destroying your shoe entirely. In my case, they tend to slice out of the outside, a few inches behind my little toe, or just behind the ball of my foot. While that might be hip look somewhere (who knows?) and offer ventilation, since I live in the Pacific Northwest, I prefer watertight footwear.

Needless to say, it's almost impossible to find shoes that fit perfectly. And even if they fit perfectly when purchased, they stretch and shrink and shift and quickly fit differently. Which is to say they start squeaking and then, eventually, stop squeaking. And we all know what that means.

So Geoff's Theory of Shoes is that, aside from a few special purpose pairs for special occasions or task-specific stuff (like hiking or, if I bowled, perhaps bowling) I wear cheap shoes. My reasoning is that no pair of day-to-day shoes is going to last very long anyway, so why would I pay top dollar (or even middle dollar) for something I'm just going to destroy? Sure, an $80 pair of shoes might be high quality, look cool, and offer great features, but I can go through four or five pairs of cheap shoes for the same price and get four or five times the use out of them. Longevity (or lack of it) is the main issue, rather than quality, brand, or fashion features. And I realize the whole shoe and clothing industry is overshadowed by environmental concerns, workforce issues, and a raft of other geopolitical nastiness. But, without becoming an expert, even if I bought pricey shoes I'd be likely to wind up with something crafted by childs' hands in a sweatshop. Much as it dismays me.

I admit to scanning discounted and sale shoes, so I occasionally pick up a decent pair at "cheap shoe" price. But the decent shoes never last very long: I've had some crap out in as little as two weeks. On the other hand, for the last few years I have been favorably surprised by some of the cheap shoes: one set recently made it through two years of routine wear, and another set went for a year and a half before being ruined by being drenched in transmission fluid rather than Death by Orthotic.

But, wow. The most recent set of cheap shoes? An excellent illustration of the consumer mantra "You get what you pay for."

I found 'em at a sporting goods store with a $15 price tag, reduced from a still-cheap $20. Although I wasn't thrilled about the sole and they were just a hair short, at least the colors weren't garish. And, to my surprise, they didn't squeak at all in the store. Assuming they didn't start squeaking soon, that meant they would either die a fast death, or last forever. I was optimistic so I bought them.

That was about five weeks ago. Since then, I've been collecting little half-inch long, quarter-inch wide "nubbies" broken off from the sole all over the house. Where the nibbies broke off, the sole is thin and prone to cracking, so I could tell these shoes would be leaking through the soles before long. And then I took them off to find one of the remaining nubbies on the heel had partially broken off…but no, it wasn't breaking off, it had collapsed into the sole, revealing a cavernous space within.

The yawning chasm in my sole!

The funny part is that, from the top, these still look like brand new shoes. And they never squeaked.