Dear White High Tops,
I thought it was about time I formally thanked you for your years of hard work. After finally parting with you as I embark on my college career, I’ve realized that I was wrong to think you could ever be replaced by a different white sneaker.
It all started in summer of 2013 when you were purchased. I finally felt like a mature high schooler who really had it together, ready to take on any party thrown my way. My mom heavily doubted my ability to keep you pristine and white, and she was certainly not wrong. It only took about three days before you and my legs were knee-deep in a thick pool of mud. Of course, being the wild pre-freshman, I was sneaking through private backyards looking for a pool to go swimming in on that boring weekend night in suburban Massachusetts.
From there on out, I knew we would have a great relationship. We were inseparable. You were there for me when I walked down those grim halls throughout my four years of high school. You were there for me to doodle on and pick at while I watched the clock in math class. You were there for me at every house party, and you put up with layers and layers of spilled beer. You were there for me as I jumped up and down without a care in the world at concerts all over the country. You were there for me through all of my travels, whether it be walking the cities of Iceland or service trips in Ghana (you’re lucky you made it out of there, but that’s for a different article).
But, most important of all, after all of the things you put up with, you started to show signs of wear, and we went through a lot of pushback from other people. My mom would say, “you’re still wearing those?” Or, my friends would question “what color did those start off as?” Even as other white sneakers came into style, I ignored all the Adidas and Nikes; I stayed true to my roots. You were all I needed. I’m not going to lie, I may have ordered Stan Smiths, but they were immediately returned. I’m sorry I had to break the news to you so publicly.
And then, I found myself about to start freshman year at Kenyon College. I knew that it was time to part with you, as your soles became scarily close to breaking completely. After much thought, discussion, research, ordering, returning, tears, and laughs, I decided that I didn’t care if you were the most basic white girl shoe ever. I needed to buy another pair for college. I can proudly say that your replacements have not disappointed me thus far. They are well on their way to becoming just as questionably colored and torn as you yourself.
Thanks for the memories, and may you find joy in your new days as a retiree,
Emma Steinert
Image Credit: Feature, Emma Steinert