It has happened, the complete and total breakdown of my Dr Martens.
Since the age of 14 I have worn these and now, 14 years on… it is over.
I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had my toe peeking out the side of these for at least 6 months.
But they have been hard to give up. Hard to recognise that they can no longer be part of life. (hard to work up the courage to break in a new pair!)
Just thinking back on the things they have lived through… every fashionably awkward situation.
my first Big Day Out – where I got so burnt I had permanent fish nets burnt into my legs for quite a while.
my first punk rock pash – my eyebrow ring caught in his beanie… seriously, it does always happen to me.
my first fashion over practicality moment of docs with fish nets at schoolies – yes they mixed with sand and yes they gave me blisters from hell.
The ease in which they fell into my normal work attire tho…. gosh they
are were perfect. The attitude they gave every midi length skirt, vintage dress of peg leg trousers.
As of last week I have had a new pair – sitting there begging to be worn.
But they don’t feel the same, they aren’t broken down with all the stories of angst and teenage humility ( who am I kidding, early 20’s humility too!) they were witness to.
But I guess this is the year for change, for new shoes and new memories – or humility, I’m okay with that too.
So in an ode to my shoes, my friends, my armour here are some snaps. Just tell me you can’t see the stories their leather holds.