Kick Slip-Ups

By JD Sphinx on 3-23-07





Theory: A person's shoes reveal more about them than any conversation you could ever have with them.
My Opinion: FUCK THAT!

Whoever originated this bizarro theory must have been flat-out joking. I mean it's ridiculous man. It's absurd. But then I got to wondering … What exactly is the product of this theory? Do people actually go out there, judge someone by their shoes, and right then and there their destiny unfolds before them at the mercy of a Velcro Reebok high top!?

I had to know what the validity of this was and if someone's shoes really were a reliable gauge to their way of living, the heart of their personality and the eye to their soul. Ok, so it wasn't that deep, but I needed to answer the age-old question, can you judge someone by their shoes?

The Plan: To approach passerbys with enticing kicks at random, ask them to take part in the worlds best survey for the world’s best website. For those who said yes, I used this standard set of questions, to create a foundation for the conversation.

1-What's your name? / Where are you from originally?
2-What do you do for a living? / Do you enjoy it?
3-How do you spend your free time?
4-Do you ENJOY your life? What would you change/add/remove if anything?

 Simple enough, right? So, with this (and some running shoes just in case I pissed someone off) I took to the streets of New York City and began my endeavor of disproving this myth or proving its gospel authenticity!

Eagerly taking in the crisp NYC air on this mighty fine March afternoon, I focused in on my first subject. I approached her calmly and asked her politely to take part in the survey. When I asked if she was interested, she grimaced, "well, ASK." Utterly stunned with her huge-ass bitch-a-tude, I asked her the first question. She then proceeded to answer with, "you have a nice day" and walked away from me. This, my friends, set the tone for what was to come; the icy waves of the NYC public violently crashing upon my innocent Zubaz article. It was going to be an uphill climb, but I had to get the answer, and it would be birthed from none other than the callous and unwilling womb of New York City if I had anything to do with it.

Thankfully, my next subject wasn't such a twat peddler.

Subject 1.


Looking at these I would think free spirit. I mean, if you're going to pair black sneaks with an ankle length denim skirt, you gotta be free floating on a wavelength of your very own. I imagined her to possibly be in a creative field, like Fine Art, where she could create as many kooky unmatched pieces as her Canadian tuxedo wearing ass so desired.

Survey:
Name/Hometown: Denise/Philly
Job: Paper Conservatory.
Free Time Activity: "I'm an artist, I enjoy figure skating and making jewelry."
Enjoy Life?: Yes, but I'd like more money."

 HELL YEAH. Hit that nail right on its unsuspecting head! What's freer than figure skating with a fine arteest!? But it felt strange, I just successfully judged someone by their SHOES. The score was 1-0 but I needed to dig deeper…


Subject 2.


Boooorr-riinggggg. Nothing to 'em. They give me nothing, I can tell zero percent about anything you enjoy in life. Maybe you like making toy tug boats out of Kit-Kat wrappers … or towers out of playing cards. Maybe you like playing tiddly winks with Angela Lansbury while listening to Harry Connick Jr. Or possibly just a recording of Brendan Fraser talking. BLAH.

Survey:
Name/Hometown: *Struggles to answer the first question* "Can I give you a fake name?"
Me: "Uh…sure?"
 Subject: "John."
Job: NYPD
Free Time Activity: *long drawn out pauses … doesn't want to answer the question* Finally, answers with "Road trips."
Enjoy Life? "Yes."

 Hmm, much like his minimal and secretive survey answers, his shoes gave me nothing at all about his personality. His profession not only taught him to filter his speech, but made him filter his expression through his shoes too! I got nothing from this man! Once again, dead on. 2-0.


Subject 3.

Seems like a nice business dude. Adding some flash and sass to the carbon copyish kicks city workers rock normally. I'd say he is an NYC robot by day, but a fun loving and adventurous daredevil by nights fall. He is probably that dude in the bar that claims to be making incessant trips to the pisser because the drinks are "running through him," but you know he's just making sure his "suave" isn't deteriorating at the same rate of his ingestion of cosmos.

Survey:
Name/Hometown: Al, NY
Job: Attorney
Free Time Activity: "Reading."

 With the last question ready to escape my lips, I inhaled to ask only to have this jerkoff cut me off and say, "Well, that was four questions." This man brought new meaning to the term "pompous douche". Not only did he make zero eye contact the entire time, but he had this aura around him, an air of shithead, like, "Oh no, a pestering youth snapping at my perfectly exfoliated and freshly moisturized ankles." I wouldn't have been surprised if that lameass joe-schmoe cop from earlier appeared at the snap of this assfucks's fingers to drag me away from him. After being reluctantly kind to this putz I finally got him to answer the last question.

Enjoy your life?: "Well, you can always change things, but everything is OK."

 Wow, who could have predicted this scuzzbag was an attorney, jeez. I bet for every "fashionable" little puncture mark on those stupid ass clown shoes, there was a family torn apart or an innocent man tossed behind bars because of him. After snapping the shot of his shoes, which I almost had to argue to get, I stood awestruck by the very bitter and cold reality of these city goers. I was completely wrong about this dude, he wasn't nice or adventurous at all, he was flat-out cruel! 2-1. At this point I decided that perhaps handing out tiny cards to the interviewees that said "ZubazPants.com" on them to prove the site’s legitimacy was a bad idea. A cascade of hate mail and death threats became vividly emblazoned in my mind. Interviewees hunting me down via the interweb like sick perverts, with maniacal cackles echoing on the airwaves as they planned my ultimate demise flooded me with fear. So I decided to ditch that part, and just tell everyone it was part of a study for school. Amazing what the term "empirical study" can get out of an unsuspecting and seemingly unknowledgeable stranger, SUCKAS!!


Subject 4.


Finally a pair of sweet ass kicks in the endless sea of black leather! They were a hot number and exactly what I was looking for all day! She seemed big on self-expression. I figured her to be that crazy chick all gussied up dancing on the bar, shaking her wobbly-bits and not giving two squirts of piss about the innocent below. She didn't just eat nails man, she spat rust. She probably partied every day of the week using every bit of that late night 'til early morning grind to the last drop, and had some cool advertising or marketing job where she kicked ass because she was orig-i-nal. After all, she was hot shit.

Survey:
Name: Wendy
Job: Factory
Free Time Activity: "Hanging out, I guess."
Enjoy Life: "Sure."

 Dammit! She wasn't crazy or extroverted at all. She spoke softly and remained reserved the entire time. She was nothing like what her shoes gave me. She was sort of like having a conversation with a brick wall. The poor thing spent her days trapped in the confines of a factory and now I just felt bad for her. Poor lass. As for me, I was wrong again. 2-2.


Subject 5a and 5b.


Easy. Drag Queens.

Survey 5a.
Name/Hometown: Jim/Brooklyn
Job: Musical Theatre Actor, Promoter.
Free Time activity: "Promoting, and getting money."
Enjoy Life? "I want more money."

Survey 5b:
Name/Hometown: Adam/Detroit
Job: Musical Theatre Actor, Promoter.
Free Time Activity: "Going out, reading."
Enjoy your life? "Yes." What you would change? "This. I would stop promoting."

 Promoting?

Well then, turns out these dudes weren't drag queens at all ... far from it, in fact. They were forced to promote the (horrible) new movie starring the (recently) ill-fated Will Ferrell and were made to dress like ass clowns in the process. Ah, the darker side of Musical Theatre, poor saps. The dude on the right insisted that I LOVED his shoes. He was wrong. They were heinous. Still I let him think that, after all he was the one dressed in head to toe metallic spandex in the middle of New York City, so I allowed him to have his moment of brief triumph. We then took pics together for some weird promotion they were doing, so it was sort of a trade-off. Once again however, the theory FAILED. 2-3


Subject 6.


Oh my my, oh hell yes, check them OUT. Between the finely blended "magenta" and "golden buff", and little bedazzlies all over these babies I knew this chick had to have layers to her personality. Not just anyone can walk out of their house wearing studded, next-to-neon cowboy boots, only a badass does it right. She was probably a rad chick, with a rad personality and open minded. I'd assume a risk taker.

Survey:
Name/Hometown: Randee/LA
Job: P.R., love it.
Free Time Activity: "Laying in the sun."
Me- "How do you do that at this time in NY?"
Subject – *chuckles* "Right on, I like traveling then I guess"
Enjoy Your life? "Yeah man, right on, as is."

 Well, well, well, Miss Flower Child, "Right on" is correct and your boots did well. Tonight, shine them dazzlies up real nice with the coconut tanning oil this frigid, blizzard-stricken-in-March NY won't permit you to use just yet. She was completely laid back, super friendly and a breath of fresh air amongst some of these other rat fucks. I bet I could score some sweet cheeba from her too, but I was “on-the-job,” so I had to be professional and refrain. She had to be reasonably open minded to be successful in P.R., and moving from LA to NY to look for work? I'd say that's a risk! The score was now 3-3.


But now for the Tie-breaker ...


Scouring Times Square, I hung my head with certain dismay. Why were so many people wearing the exact same type of shoe? It seemed like nothing existed before me but a world of leather loafers, and knee high black boots, unmisted by creativity. I was lucky I had even come across ANY of these prior diamonds in the rough. Then I thought, wait a minute, here I am ignoring all these plain janes because their shoes all look the same, and pretty boring. Instead of blow them off, let's see if they really are! And that's when I laid eyes on Subject 7.

Subject 7.


Like I said in passing, your shoes scream, "Hi I'm another 9-5 robot…yay for me!..I mean, shoot me in face already…or just blow up my office."

Survey.
Name/Hometown: Jorge/NYC
Job: State Agency. Enjoy it?: Hesitant "Yes."
Free Time Activity: *Pauses for about 20 seconds baffled, while I bite my lip trying desperately not to bust out laughing.* Finally responds with "Ya know…laying down…relaxing…TV."
Enjoy Your Life?: And here was the kicker. The man stammered through about five sets of "well…uh…ya know…" before finally spurting out, "I'm happy, but not content."

 Well Jorge, in addition to that, you are also EXACTLY what I thought you were! But in a way, I almost felt sad. The type of sad I feel when I watch old episodes of Family Matters and Urkel is getting harped on. The type of sad I feel when I lose something somewhat important because I was piss drunk the night before, like my shoes…or those sweet ass Zubaz wristbands I made. The type of sad that erupts within me when I learn someone is part Canadian, or see a chick with huge nostrils. Aw. This poor man was probably going to go home alone to a small monotone apartment, where the walls have been decorated with tiny watercolor paintings of clowns by his mom. I wanted to give him a hug, and maybe introduce him to that sleazebag attorney, because he was probably a tummy tickling shag artist and could hook ol' sappy up with a VIP pass to the poontang palace. Either way, we parted ways and the final score of the day was 4-3.

Discussion:
All in all, the theory itself is pretty bogus. It's not so much about the theory itself, but depends more on the person behind the looking glass, and their own predetermined biases, or lack-there-of. In fact, we should just banish freaken theories and be more outgoing about getting to know people and indeed having conversations with them sans prior judgment. Forget the footwear baby. I felt happy with my findings, and the long and interesting day in NYC finally came to a close, but not before one last surprise …

This man has nothing to do with shoes, or passing judgments. He is simply THE SHIT. I spotted him from a distance, he stood out, sparkling brilliantly, like an Asian who can actually drive on the highway. I asked if I could take his shot, I mean holy sheet, look at that helmet! As a fellow MIA Phins fan in NY, I had to tell him how freaken glorious it was, and that he had made my day! He was perhaps the nicest dude I met along my entire journey.


I do not know your name my lord, but even the raddest pair of Zubaz sneakers sprinkled with gold and candy could not compare to you.


And so with that, I made my way back to Grand Central, to rest my tired bones on the train ride home and think about what was next. What a day it had been. What a day, indeed.



Until next time NYC, until next time ...


Questions? Comments? Got a theory you want me to test out on the public? Shoot me an email at JDaw22@gmail.com


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