How Sneakers Helped Me Find My Style
Graphic by Izzy Chun. Image via Stockx
The blue light of the screen burned my eyes as I scrolled through 8,000 cells full of randomized words stacked on an Excel spreadsheet. As part of a market research study, I had spent 14 hours over the past week scouring each cell for hashtags that mentioned big brands. I would rather not see another hashtag for the rest of my life.
I was a college freshman signing up for any paid research study I could find. I had taken up this task to earn a little extra cash, and the first thing I did with my paycheck was feed my newfound sneaker addiction. I combed the internet for discount codes and eventually signed up for a website's email list. I had no qualms selling my personal data in exchange for 15% off my next order. And with that, my first pair of real sneakers were on their way to my doorstep (or college mailroom).
My first pair of sneakers were definitely not everybody’s cup of tea: a pair of white Air Jordan 1 Retro Low Slips. They had no resale value and were a controversial take on a cult favorite. I can already see the disapproving headshakes from actual sneakerheads. But for me, they were a gateway into the world of self-expression.
Image via Pinterest.
Clothes are rather unforgiving for anyone struggling with body insecurities; they pinch muffin tops, hug rolls and can sit awkwardly in all the wrong places. I was always interested in fashion but was never brave enough to try anything out for myself. I would hoard photos on Pinterest of outfits I wanted to wear when I finally lost weight. My high school had uniforms (which was honestly a blessing in terms of saving time in the mornings), but it was also another excuse for me to hide in a style that didn’t feel like mine.
But unlike clothes, I found that sneakers were relatively undemanding. As long as they fit my feet, I could easily try out new pairs. I could finally experiment with my style without risking another morning of crippling self-doubt, standing in front of the mirror and trying to bring up the courage to leave the house before ultimately changing into another T-shirt and jeans combo. I still veered to the safer side, mostly opting for variations of white sneakers. But for once, I picked what I liked and didn’t mind what other people had to say.
My sneaker choices varied, from Nike Air Max 97s to Asics and from Fred Perry to Adidas. The brand didn’t matter so much as whether I liked them or not. I wore chunky dad shoes and my favorite slip-ons with a pattern that was strangely reminiscent of bandages. For some reason, I didn’t mind if people thought my shoes were ugly or not. Maybe it was because I thought the criticism would be attacking the shoe itself rather than the body wearing them.
Other types of shoes were still intimidating to me — heels and boots require more put-together apparel. But with athleisure becoming a trend, it became acceptable to throw on a pair of sneakers with any outfit, whether it be sweats or slacks. Sneakers became my training wheels — they gave me borrowed confidence until I could experiment with other parts of my style.
Over time, I slowly became more comfortable with my body, but I still wear sneakers on a daily basis, and I still get a thrill opening up a new pair. The crinkle of paper or the smell of fresh leather –– it all might sound a little insane, but everyone has their little joys.
As my shoe collection grew, I invested in a shoe rack to display my prized possessions. My first pair of sneakers still sit right on top, beat-up but well-loved.