A New Pair of Shoes

I love Converse.  I always have.  I used to have a pair of Chuck’s when I was in high school.  They were high-tops, the kind that reach up nearly to the knees.  They were two-toned with a different color inside and out.  The tops of the shoes folded over, so that you could see both colors at the same time.  Mine were white with colored pinstripes on the inside.  I also had a pair of classic Chuck hightops that were bright yellow.  I loved my Chucks.

I had a jean jacket.  I used to draw on it with permanent marker.  I wore it with pride, fanged skull blazing on the back and everything.  It was my jacket.  It was a reflection of me.  I still have that jacket somewhere.  It’s in a box in a storage unit in central Illinois.  I loved that jacket.

For a very long time…decades, in fact…I believed that the image of the starving, half-crazed artist, wearing tattered clothes covered in paint, was the only true definition of an artist.  Since I was an illustrator, painter, and sculptor, that Jackson Pollock notion of what it meant to be an artist clashed with the college-bound young man that I was becoming.  Somewhere along the way, the images of the Ivy League sweater and college pennant supplant the images of canvas and brushes, sketch pad and pencil.

When I moved to creating art in the kitchen, the image of a “real chef” kept creeping into my head.  I never looked beyond being the amateur hobbyist.  When I tried my hand at business, the suit-n-tie, super-polished, Fortune 50 CEO image seemed to be the target.  Early to arrive and late to leave for the sake of appearances became more important than creating the right environment for the people around me to thrive and deliver their work. 

Always, there were people to reinforce the norms, the institutionally-approved ideas.  Always, there were people to gently nudge me in the direction of stereotype, of living cliche.  And always, I remained troubled.  Unsatisfied.  Unsettled.  Displaced within my own concept of self.  The person I was and the person I thought I would be happy being were in conflict.

I don’t want to wear leather shoes any more.  I don’t believe that animals have to die in order for me to fit the corporate image.  My current leather shoes are over four years old.  I used to think that I’d be satisfied with a pair of faux-leather imitations shoes.  They’d save a cow or two here and there, and I’d be able to still fit in, right?

Bullshit.

I am not the super-polished, business-speaking clone in a $400 suit.  I am the super-polished, articulate, intelligent, capable individual that I have always been, and I come dressed however I come dressed.  If the suit is your gig, wear it.  If it isn’t, don’t.  You shouldn’t have to.  The world is big enough for both of us.

I don’t want to run in circles that require me to be prettied up for a pageant.  I want to wear suits when I want to wear suits.  I want to focus more on creation, on building, on interesting problems, on invigorating projects.  If I am judge when I walk in the door because of how I look, I am OK with that.  Let my reputation and the power of my presence change minds.  I can deal with the fact that some people won’t get past their initial judgement, but with a planet filled with billions of people, I think I can find more than enough work to keep me busy for the rest of my life.

So, I am going to buy a new pair of shoes.  I love Converse.  I always have.  I used to have a pair of Chuck’s when I was in high school.  Maybe I’ll buy another pair of Chucks.  Maybe not.  Whatever I buy, though, I will wear with pride.  I will be comfortable in my own shoes.  Maybe you won’t be, but I will be.  The world is big enough for both of us, and, regardless of your opinion of my shoes, you and I…we can build something together.  We can change a life.  We can change a company.  We can change an industry.  We can change the world.

Chucks or Gucci?  Who cares.  Statement, not question.