That New York Magazine continues to attack shoes is a fact both troubling and puzzling. After all, shoes may be evil, but, considering the urban shrapnel covering our sidewalks, they’re a necessary one. Can’t we just let bygones be bygones, and recognize that shoes carry with them their own discontents?

Yet the most disconcerting part of their continued attack are their tactics. Gone are the reasoned essays discussing the evolution of feet; in their place: cute children. As a sidebar to their piece on child achievement tests is this answer, in mock child handwriting, to the question: “Why do we wear shoes?”

Yes, it’s true that shoes are a part of the style system, but so is New York Magazine, and there is a reciprocal relationship between the two. Would they really want to live in a world without shoes, ergo a world without shoe advertising? It’s clear that no progress will be made until we adopt a positivist assessment of shoes, reforming the system rather than tearing it down completely.

A Proud Legacy

January 12, 2010

Yesterday’s Salad has a legacy to be proud of, if not quite a proud legacy. Of course, when you’ve been around as long as we have, as intermittently as we have, that legacy comes to include scads of half-written, never published posts. This is especially true when there’s a timeliness, an urgency we let drop. So, a new occasional feature: the best never completed posts. This one comes from our friend designedlateral. The setting: immediately after Bush got attacked with a shoe, a few months after the anti-shoe New York Magazine article. Also after Jews and Shoes, but that’s more a topic for this blog.

In Defense of Shoes

Following the most recent stationary shoeing of 43, footware have climbed a few notches on the magnitudes of awesomeness scale and currently sit just below gold bond medicated powder on sweaty sac, ladies you know what I’m talking about. Vertical mobility on the scale comes with a price, however, and I’m left to fear for the future of my soles.  The damage caused to an entire era of american politiks by a pair of wingtips has white men everywhere terrified.  And do you know what happens when white men get scared?  Things disappear; things that you really like, things that you love, things that you always took for granted.  Look around you, do you ever see sporks anymore?  That’s what I thought.
Now I know what you’re thinking right now, fuck shoes, but hear me out.
I have a couple arguments I want to add, but chew on this for the moment.