For my seventh birthday, I didn't get a pony. I didn't get Barbies, Beanie Babies, or a Tamagotchi. Instead, for my seventh birthday I unwrapped a brown cardboard shoebox with black stripes and two aluminum grommets on the side. I remember opening the lid and shrieking--inside were the shoes I had been lusting after for what had felt like an eternity. My feet were finally big enough to fill the smallest (K11) size, and I had my very own Jack Purcells. They were madras, and I loved them.
Two and a half weeks later, for Christmas, I got my second pair: all white, navy "smile"--The Classics.
I was quick to learn (as we all must with our first pair) that a long-term bond with my Jacks would be impossible. The canvas of my madras sneakers was worn through before February, and the white souls were stained splotchy grey-brown from dirty sidewalks by the end of their first week. I was devastated by the loss of their shiny perfection, yet I continued to wear them, each day wearing down on the few clean areas that remained. The quick destruction was frustrating--no amount of seven-year-old carefulness could prevent the tares and discoloration-- yet I found myself clinging to them like an old baby blanket; the dirt and holes merely added character, giving my Jacks a personality and a history of their own.
Just a few days ago, I added a new pair to my (let's be honest--fairly ridiculous) collection. They're made up of so many silver sequins that they put gaudy prom shoes to shame. When I opened the lid of the new light green and khaki cardboard box, I shrieked just as I did when I was seven; just as I did a few months earlier when I brought home a fresh black pair, and as I did months before that with my John Varvatos slip-on splurge.
My Jacks have carried me through recess games of Red-Rover, awkward junior high dances, the first day of high school, my driving test, graduation, freshman orientation, internships, heartbreak, my first tandem skydive, job interviews and all of the everyday moments in between. They define my "classic" jeans and t-shirt style, and flawlessly accessorize everything else-- from Italian wool trousers to silk minidresses.
I want to share my experiences with Jack (or Mr. Purcell, if it's one of those days) and obsess over new ones, old ones, limited editions, custom designs, and all that they stand for.
I can only imagine all yours have been through, and the styles they define.
