What's Up Doc? (sorry not sorry)
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh, Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for oh
Some Nights - Fun
Basically a whole post dedicated to my new shoes... why not?
It's Monday the 15th of August. Something magical happens. Well, it depends on your definition of magical. On a second thought, maybe magical isn't the right word. But magical it was. For me. (others might call it smart marketing and consumerism-drive, but -again- lets stay with the 'magical'). Ever since I was a pre-teen I wanted, nay graved a pair of Doc Martens. They stood for something (as they profoundly hashtagged in '#standforsomething'): "Dr. Martens has a rebellious history often associated with free-thinkers, creatives and different subcultures." I wanted, nay graved to be just that.
I thought of myself as rebellious. Or at least, different than the other pre-teens directly surrounding me (I mean, who more was wearing black skinny jeans with a Tokio Hotel fan shirt while sitting awkwardly in a chair holding up knitting needles and singing along to some good ol' boyband Blue beats and thinking about how scary the world is? No one, right?! RIGHT?). But what did I stand for? At that moment: not much. And honestly I think that question can only be answered when time gets the better of us. Not in a 'death is the answer' kind of way, but, basically, pre-teen me was a dummy. Not to say that after-teen me is oh so great, but I guess, I think you first have to 'prove' yourself in some way. Don't get me wrong, I don't have to prove anything regarding someone else, but more in the sense to prove something to yourself; to strive for your morals and lift them to another level during your time here on earth.
In that sense my morals haven't changed, only strengthened. I feel I become more and more 'me' (or a version, an idea of 'me') that's closer to what 'I' want to be towards myself and the world surrounding me. That and I still really really wanted those bloody Docs. I mean, our love is too strong, you can't separate us! We're meant to be! Feel my love! *whispers* Feel my love... Also my trusty black brogues died on me (or I killed them, either way...) after a trusty five or so years of service (and that for some rotten H&Ms). To heal my pain I wrote a bad poem. (I'm someone who needs time to seperate, to take a step back from my stuff. I'm emotionally invested, alright. And although the last year they were a pain in the behind -say broken soles that let water in, broken back of the shoe that made my feet blister- they were still there, on my feet, almost daily. That stuff matters!). Besides letting my heart speak through poetry I also made a run to the Dr. Martens store in the beautiful Utrecht. I realised I never actually go to Utrecht (while it's only about a 20 minute train ride from where I live). But there I was, full of anticipation.
It's funny for how long I've been tackling this 'problem' of trying to get a pair of Docs and how easy it eventually turned out to be. Not only did it took me about ten years to finally make the decision of purchasing, but mostly the way towards making the actual purchase.... Hard labour, man (that in combination with drowning in doubt and your regular stress that comes with people, money and a combination of the two). However when finally standing there, two minutes past twelve in the afternoon, in front of a (yet) closed door, it all soon followed, developed into small talk with the staff (who were -I must say- absolutely lovely), putting 'them' on your feet, decide that you've found the love of your life (I'm easy to please), bag them up and walk out of the store. That's it. Done. Finito. I was, I am the (proud) owner of a pair of Docs. As I said to my mum, this is actually quite the story of my life (not to sound too dramatic): a constant struggle with myself and my surroundings that could be done with just clapping your hands and tapping your feet. Oh well. I'm unique. I'm a rebel. I sing boyband Blue beats, knit jumpers and dedicate my love, my heart, my all, to my new shoes.
I'd like to thank mum-the-assistant for holding those Docs up. They're bloody heavy...
For those interested, I went for the 1461 Vegan (semi-new found morals). I've found them to be true to size and fit like a glove. You can't tell the difference between these vegan beauties and their 'regular' material friends and -from what I've researched- when taken care off they ought to be just as good (and maybe even a little bit better). But you'll probably see these bad boys in the upcoming, I don't know, thousand or so blogposts (jk.) (or am I?).
For those waiting in anticipation for that heartfelt, loved drowned love poem for my (broken) shoes, this is for you...
An Ode To My Broken Shoes, an original (bad) poem by Dominique
If you keep trippin'
And when the rain comes drippin'
Your feet are gettin' wet.
If you can't go runnin'
'Cause your soles are gone, then
Maybe it's time to look ahead.
But these shoes that made me,
That kept me walkin' and let me be.
Who would I be,
Without these shoes attached to me?
These shoes have made me trippin', singin'
Walkin', talkin', rockin',
Shinin' and signin'.
These shoes have made me doin', coolin' and droolin'.
These shoes, I can't stop thinkin',
What they have been bringin'.
And although they may be broken
I'll still keep them as a token.
'Cause without them they wouldn't have provoken'
All of the things I have spoken.
These shoes were made for walkin',
But that's not just what they'll do.
These shoes have become a symbol,
Of all that I can do.