On Shoe Snobs

Hardly anything satisfies a Shoe Snob. Perhaps nothing satisfies a Shoe Snob. A Shoe Snob lives his life to feel like he’s been done wrong. Any sign of loose grain, a scratched welt, or a nicked sole, would be a direct attack on the worthiness and deserved celebration of his personal existence (and he is worthy of celebration, just scroll through his instagram). Look. LOOK AT HIM. Look how good he is at buying things!

A Shoe Snob’s idea of what a dollar is worth, of what raw materials cost, and the price of manufacturing, hasn’t changed since 1994. He’s also never made anything with his hands that didn’t involve popsicle sticks.

Any sort of adjustment to pricing, styles, or construction methods is a challenge to the Snob’s obvious, inalienable right to be served with what he deems to be flawless manufactured goods. Because again. Look at him.

If he DOES choose to grace the footwear economy with an order, expectations will be exospheric. If upon arrival said goods are somehow UP to the snob’s absurd expectations of perfection (expectations he has never and will never achieve in his own personal line of employment), in a way he will be disappointed. Because without flaw, he cannot berate the manufacturer on the internet! And that public shame-flogging happens to be a favorite hobby from which the snob derives significant self worth. The only hobby in which he derives more self worth is being looked at. Look. Look at him.

But alas, at least his presence on this earth has been honored. Yes, finally tribute has been delivered, by way of a pair of consumer goods so flawless, that their birth necessitated a labor of billions of years of cosmic combat between the absurdity of entropy, and its patient disciplinarian co-parent, natural selection.

After a triumphant sigh and a mental self congratulation on his ability to purchase high quality products (posts new purchase to Instagram, natch), he will then secure said impeccable goods to his ugly-ass feet, and proceed to walk through dirt and grease and a palette of shit that spans the metazoa.

And they will all look. Because he is him.

-fin-

This post originally appeared as part of a Target Single Monk Strap review, but has since been adapted, because probably nobody read the other one. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Shoes at the top of this post are burgundy cordovan Allen Edmonds Park Avenues. On sale, through today, for (wait for it) $590. Probably wouldn’t be up to snuff to the average shoe snob. Full review here.