Sadly, my most vivid memories of being a child centered around sneakers. Hell, part of my namesake comes from fondly remembering retro sneakers of old. One of my favorites was the Nike Air Raid. When iterations retroed the first time around, I was too obsessed getting Jordans and Foamposites to notice. Not so the second time around. I had it all planned out. Cop the kicks. Find some Cross Colours clothing. Then a leather Africa pendant. I patiently waited for the Raids to go on sale (because fuck paying full price), and when they came in, I cabbage patched all the way from the mailbox straight to the bedroom to try them on.
Now, I don’t know what happened in my “advanced” age. Either Nike didn’t use the original template or my feet got Paula Deen syndrome. Not the racist syndrome, the fat syndrome. Slipped the kicks on and they felt fine. Until I tried strapping in. Wasn’t going to happen. Not even close. The straps got maybe 2 cm past the loop before tapping out.
I am undeterred. Wearing my shoes like this, and with zero fucks given: