Vintage Kicks

Turning 26 is a wonderous thing.

OK, OK, the Wrinkle of Incredulity on my forehead is deepening; I’ve got some fine lines growing around my eyes. My knees make that wet-cardboard creaky sound, and I’m doing lots more ‘reflective listening’ at noisy pubs, clubs and house parties. Not because I’ve become mature and wise and patient, but because I can’t actually hear what’s being said (years of earphone abuse), so I settle for ‘mm hmms’, ‘oh’s’ and what I hope is a thoughtful expression.

But back to what’s wonderous about being 26.

Being 26 means that I’ve been an Adult Woman, physiologically at least, for ten years, and have a wardrobe that is well established enough that I can pull together pieces that are, to borrow Maggie Alderson’s term, ‘Vintage Me’.

‘Vintage Me’ means clothes and accessories you’ve had for many a moon. ‘Vintage Me’, in my book, carries the ultimate styling cred. Why? Well, not only were you spectacularly chic, you are, still, spectacularly chic, AND had the foresight to keep great pieces even when they weren’t trending.

Basically, ‘Vintage Me’ = Swag + +

Particularly when the ‘Vintage me’ piece has swag already. Enter my two pairs of Doc Martin Kicks.

I bought my kicks when I started college (year 11 and 12, to all you non-ACT peeps). My college didn’t have a uniform, and, as such, 2003 was a great year for me, stylistically. My crew were rolling an early 90s look (and our own cigarettes) long before it was cool to do so.

(Insert your favorite hipster insult here)

My first pair of kicks – the classic Doc Martin boot, in an abstract black and white printed leather, purchased at Redpaths in Garema Place – were a momentous purchase, my first steps into the grungy look that would see me wear corsets, crochet cardigans, and torn, graffiti'd jeans to school.

Those kicks, along with the cherry red pair my parents bought me for Christmas, were my footwear of choice through 2003 and 2004, and well into my first year at uni. During the middle of my degree, my look took a turn towards the ladylike: my kicks were replaced by the highest of heels (my favorites: pale blue crushed velvet, gold trim, channeling Marie Antoinette). Moving out of home into cold, draughty houses and flats, I grew to love knee high boots, in all their manifestations: flat, heeled, elasticated, zippered.

Now, as a Young Professional (worst term ever – blergh) I’ve come to appreciate a Sensible Pump and Ballet Flat on a 9-5, Monday to Friday basis. But on my weekends, I’m all about putting the Sensible Pumps and Ballet Flats on one side, embracing my inner rebel and kicking it to the man - at least until 8am on Monday.

And there’s no better shoe for kicking it to the man than kicks. Particularly when said kicks are ten years old, and still kicking on.