sneakers may smell but they never lie

This was a great commentary from philly.com. This chick's a true sneakerhead.

SNEAKERS MAY SMELL, BUT THEY NEVER LIE
By PATTY-PAT KOZLOWSKI

WHILE millions of Americans know the conspiracies behind who killed JFK and why Elvis is living in a trailer park in Port Orange, Fla., I don't waste my time with such theories. Instead, I live my life and judge people on their athletic footwear. I call it the Sneaker Theory.

Growing up, every generation had the fear of having to wear Bo-Bo's. Already the song is creeping in your head: Bo-Bo's, they make your feet feel fine, Bo-Bo's they cost $1.99.

Just like you didn't want to be the kid who was forced to eat a urinal cake, you didn't want to be the kid wearing Bo-Bo's. Thankfully, my parents, a hard-working Port Richmond couple, always bought me name-brand sneakers. They knew the importance of Adidas shelltops and Reebok Classics.

At 17, I graduated from high school and was told by that same couple that the gravy train had stopped: No more would they buy me sneakers, CDs or clothes from the Gap.

With more than $1,000 in graduation money, I did what I thought was the most responsible thing for a girl starting college in the fall. I chipped in with my best friends, rented a house in Wildwood and bought a pair of $135 Nike Airs.

These shoes were magnificent. They were white leather and mesh with royal blue soles and a lime green swish. And they had the air pockets in the heels so when I was running from Wildwood police for underage drinking on the beach, it felt like I was running on, well, air.

I took a job in a boardwalk ice cream store and by July Fourth the Airs were ruined - stained with jimmies and smelling like sour whipped cream. The swoosh peeled off and was replaced with mint chocolate chip and butter pecan stains. The laces were covered in waffle batter.

I needed new sneakers but I realized that another $135 was more than half my paycheck. No way was I going to spend that much of my own money. So for the first time in my life, I bought a pair of Bo-Bo's. The taste of urinal cake was never so bitter.

It was then that my sneaker theory was born. I vowed to never spend more than $20 on sneakers again, and a fetish for people's footwear was born. I started to judge them by their sneakers.

When I started working in public service, part of my job was writing vouchers for people who couldn't afford groceries. As I sat at my desk and filled out the number of people in a house and what food they needed, I would drop my pen so I could look at their feet: Bo-Bo's or the $135 Airs that I could no longer afford?

I never denied anyone a voucher. In fact, many times I listed more people so they would get more food. But in the back of my mind, I thought, "How is it that you are wearing $135 Nike Airs but you don't have money to feed your kids?"

You get disgusted with the system when you're writing a voucher so people can feed their kids but their cell phone goes off and they tell you to hold on a minute as they lift their newly manicured fingernails.

Hey, Mother of the Year, get rid of the cell and stop going to the nail salon and buy some ground meat and spaghetti. And there's footwear called Bo-Bo's: They make your feet feel fine, and they only cost $1.99!

I almost caused a riot in a supermarket when a couple in front of me used their welfare access card to buy shrimp, steaks and Ben and Jerry ice cream, while I was hoping I had enough cash for the store-brand dog food for Bruno the Dalmatian.

It wasn't that these people were buying top of the line items that made me angry because, hey, if someone gives you a free shopping spree, you're gonna buy steak and shrimp and not hot dogs and Mrs. Paul's.

But these people were wearing the brand-new Reeboks that Randall Cunningham was pitching for $120 at the local Foot Locker. I know because I wanted those Reeboks but couldn't afford them.

SNEAKERS ALSO tell a lot about a person. Take restaurant stiff Neil Stein. Here's a guy who told a judge that he didn't have the money to pay the staff at his restaurants, but he shows up the next Friday night wearing $250 Pumas that you can only special-order! How do I know? Because I surf sneaker sites like a pedophile surfs tellytubbies.com! I window shop on Walnut Street and drool over the Pumas that equal my car payments.

The other day, everyone's favorite professional protester, Cheri Honkala of the Kensington Welfare Rights Union, helped shut down City Council for a few hours. Honkala is dedicated to organizing welfare recipients, the homeless, the working poor and all people concerned with economic justice.

Hey, more power to you, sister, but next time you stand in front of Council and preach about being poor and underfunded, don't wear your $95 New Balance sneakers - you know, the ones with the black suede and the gray leather logos?

I thought my sneaker theory was foolproof until I came across a pair of brand-new Adidas shelltops at a flea market. The seller said his high school daughter only wore them once, and he was selling them for $2.

He told me he bought them for $65 last year but she outgrew them when the next new fad came along. So I bought a pair of name-brand sneakers for the same amount as a gallon of gas.

In reality, could all these name-brand-sneaker-wearing pet peeves of mine have bought their sneakers for $2 at a flea market?

Did Neil Stein leave Striped Bass one day and venture to a flea market to buy used $250 Pumas that some rich guy didn't want anymore? Did Cheri Honkala's New Balances fall off a truck on a street near one of her tent cities?

Did the food voucher needy momma buy those pricey Nikes at a thrift store? Did the surf-and-turf-eating duo at the Shop Rite buy those gold-tipped Reeboks with their Access Card, too?

If that's true, then I open my mouth and insert my under-$20 sneaker.

Patty-Pat Kozlowski wrote this column wearing $19.99 Pumas she bought on sale at Franklin Mills Mall.