Sneakertrash

Usually when I’m thinking/writing about consumption, I’m essentially focused on the moment people buy something. I don’t think I’m alone in this: consuming and buying sound like the same thing.

But of course you could also argue that the purchase moment is actually just the beginning. The process of consuming something doesn’t end until it’s gone (in the case of, say, a beverage) or thrown out, or dissolved, or whatever. And we all know it’s pretty common to feel much differently about a given object at the end of this process than at the beginning.

For a long time I’ve had this on my list of “themes to address some day,” but lately I’ve been thinking about it a lot, because we’ve been in the process of getting rid of a lot of stuff. For instance, the sneakers above — one of two pairs I just threw away. Pondering the conclusion of my personal history with these consumable objects has given me a reason to act on a months-old invitation to join an online “sneaker community,” called Sneakerplay.

I was invited to join Sneakerplay not because I have a massive collection of dope kicks — I certainly don’t — but because I’ve written about sneaker culture a few times. I was curious enough to accept the invitation and poke around, but I haven’t really been much of a participant. The idea is to upload pictures of your most impressive sneakers, and look at pictures of other people’s most impressive sneakers, and make new friends — and to enter your sneaker pix in “battles” against others. Other community members vote on these faceoffs between pairs of sneakers.

I don’t really have any battle-worthy sneakers. I may have a few pairs that might be of very slight and very passing interest to sneakerheads, but I buy shoes in order to wear them: I don’t keep them “box fresh” in a closet, or clean them with a toothbrush or whatever. So they tend to get dirty and worn out, and would fare poorly in any battles. But my trash-bound sneakers offer another way to participate: Skipping past the thrill of buying to evaluate the satisfaction — or frustration — of using something until it simply can’t be used any more. I’m starting my Sneakerplay gallery with trashed sneakers.

My first entry then, is a pair of Jack Purcells that was purchased on Eighth Street in New York City in about March or April of 2003, for $35. This was just after the announcement that Nike was buying Converse, and since Converse had been my sneaker brand for years, I wanted one last pre-Nike-ownership pair. For a while, I wore them a lot, and eventually this took its toll. They’re too trashed to wear anymore, and they finally became my junk shoes — to be worn while doing something messy. I haven’t worn them since February, I’d say. But the bottom line is, I got my $35-worth out of these. Good purchase. I’m satisfied.

Second: Penguin sneakers. I bought these for about $50 in December 2003 or thereabouts — during the period when I was trying to figure out what kind of sneakers to wear now that I’d decided I wouldn’t be buying Converse anymore. Penguin was already getting trendy, but it was easy to reduce the logo-ing on these by razoring away a tag on the tongue. And I kind of liked the way they looked. The bad news: They were not well made at all, and within 18 months there were holes in the soles! I figured that out one day when I was wearing them in the rain, and I realized that water was getting in from underneath. I couldn’t believe it. They’ve been sitting in a throw-away box ever since. I was pretty excited about these when bought them — but it ended up being a completely unsatisfying experience, and frankly I think it’s taken me so long to throw them out because even thinking about having paid $50 for such lousy shoes makes me feel stupid.