Evening everyone. Being a freelance writer (and a free one) has allowed me the flexibility to not blog in a while. To you my readers, I apologise.
I ask you a straight forward question? Where are all the brown shoes? SERIOUSLY? Upon purchasing a lovely tan/dark-olivey coloured linen suit from Moss for a friend’s upcoming wedding, I obviously set about to find a pair of smart brown leather shoes as I only had a pair of smart blacks. Sounds simple enough right?
For those of you who aren’t familiar with Gloucester City centre, imagine the worst of sixties architecture interspersed with chavs circa 2005. The shopping experience is also closer to Ziggy Stardust than the Arctic Monkeys.
First stop for some nice chestnut loafers (or an adequate substitute) Marks and Sparks.
After traipsing through the lingerie section (Shops - “Y U NO make men feel comfortable when they walk through them?”) to locate the stairs to shoot up to the men’s section, I found myself a little underwhelmed. A sea of striped polo shirts (see previous article) on beiegey Dr-Who-monster-esque mannequins confronted me which proved me right. ^Insert little internal smug chuckle^. The shoe section was nearly as horrific as the ‘summer casual’ display. Smart shoes galore, lace ups, loafers, brogues, pointy toes, square toed, leathers, suedes...one small problem...all of them black. Except the sandals which were brown....so yeah, all of the viable options...were black.
A young lad emerged with a trolley of boxes and crates with mens shoes and started tagging some and placing them on the shelves.
“‘Scuse me mate, are these the only brown shoes you’ve got?”
(started looking through his trolley like a snooty, nosey, slummy mummy in Tescos)
“Yeah, I think so, I’ll have a look for you though”
He returned, but to no avail. His gallant efforts of finding some lovely calf-skin beauties were dashed. He went on to explain that most of the brown shoes had been sold in the sale and that they were expecting a new lot in next week (typical? So typical it’s almost unrealistic!?!). I explained that the wedding was in exactly a week’s time. We bonded over how stock was cyclical and that it’s really hard to get what you want on time. He was chatting about shoes; I was chatting about parts for aircraft hydraulics...it was all kinda the same. After an exchange of pleasantries I went on my merry way quite shocked that only 4 of the 80 or so available pairs of shoes were brown.
Two shops down, ‘Priceless Shoes’. Worth a punt? With good music blaring into my skull courtesy of Mr Sennheisser, I popped in to see whether this new shop was as good as its predecessor, Bacon’s Shoes. Good would not be a word I would associate with Priceless Shoes. Tasteless Shoes would probably be more apt. I would describe the ambience and decor of the store as that of Lidl, but that really would be demeaning to my favourite German supermarket. At least their products are efficiently organised. In theory it was meant to be arranged like Brantano - shoes in pairs, on racks, ordered by size. the Mens shoes I picked up were sized as follows:
6,7,6,8,11,12,9,9,9,8,9.
Great. No tens. No strike, not even a bloody spare! After being quite disgusted at the tackiness of the women’s shoes, I felt that even if I did find a pair which was my size / colour / desired level of formality - the quality wouldn’t really live up to much. And if I’m having to dance in these bad boys - they’ve gotta be able to handle the pace.
Round the corner, past the charity anglers (that’s charity guys fishing for money, not anglers fishing for charity), around the tweenage clique drinking frappacinos and into Clarks. I’ve always been apprehensive about Clarks. I mean, I don’t understand it as a brand - much like W H Smiths. It’s not really sure what its niche is, and who it’s aiming it at.
After being aware that I immediately brought the average age down by about 8 points, I drift to the mens section; try on a gorgeous pair of mens chestnut lace up standard mens shoes. Comfy squishy bits on the inside, absolutely gorgeous... £75 down to £55. I could cope with that as they felt divine.
I approach a man in a polo shirt with an ear-piece /microphone thing. Imagine a lanky white guy pretending to be a nightclub bouncer but being surrounded by 60 year old males and their wives rather than 18 to 30s and you’ve got the picture.
He radios upstairs to his colleague (I assume?) and a few moments later he hands me a white box before addressing the large queue in front of him near the till.
I open the box to discover that one shoe is comparatively smaller than the other. Look under the tongue - UK 8. Fail.
“Are they ok sir?”
“I’m sure they would be if they were a pair of tens, but they’re averaging a nine at the moment”
“Excuse me, I don’t understand?”
“They’re not a pair. This one’s a ten, this one’s an eight.”
“Oh, I’m very sorry”
Takes box, Radio Ga-Ga’s the store room elves again. Brief pause.
“Here you go sir, I’ve ensured that they’re the right size this time.”
“Thank you very much”.
Try on shoes. Notice that one of the shoes is considerably more worn than the other. Not tatty per se, just....the leather had ridges in it. Not cracking, but not smooth either. You get me? Had the texture more of a sieve than a polished granite worktop if that helps at all. I was losing patience by this point...
“Excuse me”
Bouncer man leans over, intrigued.
“Do you have any tens which haven’t been pre-worn?”
“What do you mean pre-worn? They’re all new shoes in this shop sir.”
“Look at the leather. It’s cracking and well distinguished. I appreciate someone may have tried them on, but they’ve walked to bloody Cheltenham and back in ‘em.”
“Oh, I see what you mean, it doesn’t look great does it?”
This kid’s rhetoric wasn’t helping the sale (and Cheltenham is about 9miles away from Glozza for those of you who aren’t local).
“Well sir, we don’t have any more of these in tens in stock at the moment.”
“Right”
“But we can order some for you, which will be delivered to your home address”
“Sounds good, what’s the delivery date? Because it’s imperative I have them in my hands, and preferably on my feet by Friday, they’re for a wedding”
“Well they normally come within two weeks, but special delivery for £4.99 normally guarantees them within four to five working days.”
“Ok...so you’re telling me that I would have to pay five pounds extra because you fail to have adequate stock of the shoes I wish to buy even though I’ve come in at my own expense, and even then they might not be delivered on time?”
“I’m afraid so..”
“I don’t think you’ll see me again in here. Good day.”
Storming exit. Nearly get run over by a pram. Look around to the find the next shop which would sell men’s brown shoes. At this point I thought I was going insane and was trying to find Jack Daniels in Saudi Arabia or an Ice Hotel in Arizona. But no, simple commodities are hard to find in Gloucester. Social deprivation on the other hand...
Topman.
What to say about Topman? I mean, it’s changed drastically since I was a yoof. It used to be trendy t shirts and good quality jeans. Now its merely a museum to a specific subculture sometimes labelled ‘hipster’ or ‘dickhead’. I mean, I appreciate it’s not my bag, but man-bags...you’ve gotta be kidding me?! Thumbing-through the items on the sale rail, I was quite shocked to discover none of the trousers were larger than a 34” waist and the t-shirts larger than a medium? To this day I’m still unsure whether I was just late to the party or whether Topman just doesn’t appreciate my *cough* athletic *cough* physique.
Finally reached the shoes which were beautifully presented to their credit. Numerous styles in gorgeous leather of many colours....Not bad. All the brown, smart shoes - Winkle-pickers. GET IN!! Exactly what I want with my extra-wide size tens! Headphones come off. Scratch head. Look around with a gaunt, horrified sense of WTF...
“Can I help you sir?”
“Um...yeah, do you have any brown shoes which aren’t these *points*. ?
“I’m afraid not. Everything we have is out. Sorry. What are you looking for?”
“A sort of loafer, brogue, anything that’s wide-fit and brown to be honest.”
“Yeah, I get ya. I know that you mean about the brown, they’re getting rarer.”
“I thought it was just me! I’m glad someone else has noticed it!’
“Na, it’s not just you. I’ve been asked been before and found trouble myself.’
“Exactly! It makes no sense because non-black suits and creamy chinos are so in at the moment.” I protest too much.
“Yeah, totally. Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you, but gimme a shout if you need anything else.”
We go our separate ways but at least the bloke had restored my faith in the fact that some staff in fashion outlets actually understand how clothes and outfits work.
Head towards the exit, scan the t-shirts...nothing funny....go down the stairs. Inevitably held up by a middle-aged guy in front of me also holding onto the handrail for dear life.
‘Mmmm, I thought...he looks well dressed. Smart dark blue chinos, tan suede shoes, baggy but comfy jumper. Good job sir, I’m glad there’s still some fashion sense in males over forty but as he turned the corner of the staircase, I saw it. My pupils dilated and stood speechless. A black belt around his middle appeared, and then as he made the corner, I noticed the black satchel on his tummy. A bumbag... in 2011. HE WAS DOING SO WELL!!!! I didn’t know what to think. The only thought which came into my mind was BullsEye host Jim Bowen saying “Here’s what ya coulda won!”
Congratulations Topman, you’ve successfully niched yourself out of the market.
I leave exasperated and desperate for a place of refuge. A shop. Any shop. Anything to get the horrific sight out of my conscious.... I jitter about, walking, Sennheissers on, in the zone, scanning for other shops. BHS. Boom. Fudge it, that’ll do.
As I mount the escalator of desperation I began to realise that I haven't frequented BHS since I came here with me mum shopping for new school trousers. After chuckling to myself and a quick nostalgic bubble, I find myself in the men’s section. B-E-A-Yootiful. Not only was it well designed; but the huge ‘Burton’ logo informed me, albeit in a succinct fashion that their menswear was designed/provided by Burtons. Good stuff. Always been a fan, and even more so after Mr Topman clearly doesn’t like cheese and wine as much as I do.
The Holy Grail was in front of me. A rack of wide, chunky brown loafers, available in sizes 8 through to 12. INCLUDING 10! WOW! I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited to feel a pair of leather shoes in my hands. I looked around to see if I was being watched, but instead of stealing them, I smelt them. Realising I’d hit a new low in my life, I strolled towards the till having discovered that the elevens were more to my feet’s favour and more easily accommodated my rugby socks. Pair of shoes in hands, picking up a perfect outfit-matching tie up on the way, I was grinning like Mr Carol’s Cheshire Cat.
The girl at the till gave me a quizzical look.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“Fine thanks yeah, just glad to find a good pair of shoes.”
“We aim to please. That’ll be £37 please”.
(The sticker on the shoes said £38 and the tie was £5 which only prompted further smiling)
Not wishing to try my luck and realising that ‘good things come to those who wait’, I left the shop feeling satisfied that Burton had done me proud and then I thanked God for BHS.
