Brogues, Oxfords, and Saddle Shoes

          When I was younger, I had a major problem tying my shoes. I am not talking about the normal finger fumbling that happens when a kid first learns her knots and crosses. No, no, I had a serious deficiency. No matter how many times I practiced, no matter how many catchy, educational rhymes I learned, those damn bunny ears would never go through those damn holes, and would never come out beautiful and bold. Thankfully, the world of footwear smiled kindly on me for a while. I was still young enough to wear velcro on my sneakers, and soon enough those awesome springy laces made their debut in every Payless in the country. I am not certain about the exact physics behind them but they kind of just mashed together and magically held your shoes onto your feet. Plus, they came in glow-in-the-dark colors, for all of those midnight marathons I was running in the third grade. I don't care how old or how tough you think you are but no one can say no to phosphorescence.
          Sadly, bullies are real, not just characters in after-school specials. Snot-nosed brats made fun of my shoes, calling me a baby, calling me dumb. They said my sneakers looked like bugs, springy antennae and all. Which was true, yeah but I didn't want to be called out on it. I decided that I had two options at that time: I could cry to my mom about how mean they were being to me, or I could finally see how deep the rabbit hole went.
          To make a long story a little bit shorter, I did both. I cried before, during, and after learning how to tie my shoes. I still remember my disbelief when I finally made that sweet little bow on the top of my sweet little foot. I tied and untied my laces over and over again, afraid that if I didn't remain constantly vigilant I would lose the ability forever. I was so proud that first day I walked into gym class, my shoes firmly in place, ready to take on the world. I could finally run free with the other kids, playing floor hockey and kickball (although still not very fast, I was kind of a plump child). My future with shoelaces was off to a beautiful beginning.
          Ever since then, I feel like I've had a subconscious obsession with lace-up shoes. In my proud primary school years, I wore beige suede oxfords and black and white saddle shoes, thinking myself the modern-day Frenchie, a beautiful beauty school dropout. The angst I felt during puberty and middle school could be seen on my feet in the form of what my dad so tactfully called "shit kickers," thick soled Doc Martins that I wore to their deliciously dirty demise. I had a crush on all of the punk kids in high school, which was outlived by my crush on their Converse and Vans.  And now, college and beyond, I'm in a committed relationship with all of the above, and don't forsee an imminent divorce.
          Now don't get me wrong, I love ballet flats and heels and sandals and such. I'm a girl, for goodness sake; it's in our genetic makeup to adore footwear. However for me, there is just that something that makes me look twice at a laced-up shoe. I think it's the fact that you can do anything you want in these shoes. Let's be honest: you're not running into the ocean at midnight in heels, or skydiving in Chanel flats. You can't even ride most rollercoasters in flip-flops! If only those shoes had something to hold them onto your feet... if only they tied.  It might also be the fact that shoes like oxford, brogues, and Docs are a nice contrast to my normally girly style. They add a little bit of toughness, a little bit of control. Most have a slight menswear tilt on them, making known who really wears the pants in a relationship.  Lace-ups also hold a bit of history to them, a bit of culture.  A pair of brown Oxfords can stir up memories of reading in a library, knee-high boots can remind a person of hiking in the fall, or a recent rock concert. Shoes with laces tell a person that they have a specific person, that have places to go, people to see, and memories to make.