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7 hours ago
4
Style and comfort have always been of equal priority for me. I got my first pair of Converse All Stars at the mall in Indiana in the 1980s. They were teal and yellow – I would fold the lip of the hi-top over to show off the lemony interior. For my wedding, I wore low-top leather Converse with my white dress. I’ve walked across cities from Rome to Mumbai, Chicago to Oslo – all while wearing Converse, or Fly London boots – looking for vintage one-offs and secondhand gems, clothes made to last.
In 2021, aged 41, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, a degenerative disease that resulted in symptoms including difficulty moving, especially walking. Dystonia is a common symptom for those of us with young onset Parkinson’s; it involves the involuntary and painful twisting of parts of the body. In my case, dystonia occurs in my back, hands, feet and ankles. When my medications aren’t working, or when I’m tired – and more so as the disease progresses – this drastically curtails my mobility and dexterity. My toes grip the earth, my ankles frequently and painfully roll, sometimes I stumble and nearly or actually fall. It is mentally and physically exhausting, and the pain can take my breath away.
As well as affecting my mobility, Parkinson’s also began to transform my relationship with clothes. Soon after my diagnosis, I found that my beloved All Stars had become no good for walking. They induced the twisting in my toes, possibly because the soles were flexible and light. Fly boots were also treacherous: the wedge soles created a high-stakes perch from which my ankles would collapse. NHS orthotics didn’t fit in either brand.
My footwear shift began after a transatlantic flight. A fellow traveller, also using special assistance, shared his tip: Nike tactical boots have stiff soles and lace-up ankle support. I began to wear those instead, progressing to Nike Dunk Highs. Soon, I wore nothing else.
The Flys and All Stars languished in my closet; I found it hard to accept that I would never wear them again. I had clothes, too, that were no longer comfortable – but for so long those shoes had felt like “me”. So much of my life had changed already, and they were a part of my identity I wasn’t willing to sacrifice.
A friend suggested selling pieces I no longer wore on Vinted. I listed everything that now made movement difficult and received warm and grateful reviews from those who bought them. I did the same as a buyer, turning to Vinted for my new obsessions: one-of-a-kind funky shirts to wear under longish jackets. Layering helps regulate temperature fluctuations that arise due to Parkinson’s and the side-effects of my medication.
I didn’t touch my old shoes for almost a year – not until the time came to invest in a new pair of Nikes. I saw how much my beloved boots could fetch and made a reluctant listing. In a single day, all the Flys were gone.
The Converse took longer. I had priced them high, very high – to me, they were priceless. I watched them sit motionless in my real and virtual wardrobes until I received an offer on a grey pair. I accepted. It was the first pair I let go and I wrote a personal note to the buyer, explaining why I would be sad to give them up.
A reply arrived, embellished with sweet emojis. The buyer was also a longtime All Stars-wearer; she had just worn through a much-loved pair in the same colour. She sympathised with my reluctance to part with my favourite footwear and told me to keep well. Over time, I connected with other buyers, who also shared stories of illness, bodily change and evolving personal style.
These days, I wear whichever shoes give me comfort, aware that this too may evolve over time. I don’t walk as far as I used to, but I still seek out clothes and shoes that will go the distance. I have gained a greater understanding of the things that trip us up, that cause more pain, and what we must choose to let go, as well as the power of kind words to move us, and to keep us moving forward.
