The Days of DMs are Over
News flash: Dansko clogs have replaced Doc Martens as my comfort shoe of choice. Is this a consequence of turning 35, or just coincidence? Your guess is as good as mine. I hung on to my fuchsia DMs through seven moves, but as I've only worn them once in the past five years, I've moved them to the Sell pile (which is really the give-away-to-charity pile, since I doubt I'll get around to selling anything). I'm considering getting a pair of plum nubuck closed-back clogs to replace them.
At one point I had 11 pairs of DMs, but I've been slowly whittling that number down over the years. My second pair—a set of shiny black shoes—was the first to go, when the leather in the heels cracked and split open. They were loved too well. A couple pairs that didn't fit as well as they should have—and thus were loved too little—were given away in practically-new condition. I've clung to my remaining 6 or 7 pairs as if giving them up would mean finally admitting that I'm uncool, but alas, it's time for my green distressed-leather 8-eyes, my green distressed-leather shoes, my brown oiled leather 8-eyes, and my matte black leather steel-toed 8-eyes—my first pair ever, purchased in London—to join the fuchsia pair in the Sell pile. I'm keeping the shiny black 10-eyes for now, though the skirts I usually wear them with will probably look just as nice with the Danskos.
In the "but wait, I'm still punk!" department, I got my hair cut last week. After two years of cutting it myself, I finally made it back to Toni Kim's chair at Hugo Salon in Wheaton, MD, and she gave me a right proper shearing. I now have super-short, stand-on-end, spiked-like-I-like it hair that's screaming for Manic Panic purple dye. Even my Korean mother-in-law calls it "very modern." Yeah, baby!