Shoe Beasts
On love, diamonds, and the emotional lives of men addicted to shoes
There’s nothing funny about a man in the grip of addiction. Well, unless his addiction is shoes. Then it’s kinda funny. Kinda. This rather delicate truth is making it hard for me to not laugh when my lawyer confesses that he suffers from a paralyzing fear that soon he won’t be able to hit a shoe store whenever he wants to cop a new pair of Jordans. He has a new baby on the way. His second. That means no more Jordan-buying sprees. Right now, he doesn’t want to think about that economic eventuality. Right now, he just wants to feel that special high he gets from looking at shoes. So my lawyer shows me his secret sneaker collection. I’ve known this man since college. He’s not just my lawyer — he was once my roommate and is one of my oldest friends — and, until now, I had no idea he collected sneakers. And I never would have guessed he’s a shoe beast.
In his home office, my friend slides open the door to a giant closet-sized storage space and turns to face me, sporting a guilty grin.
“Dude, Z, I’m telling you, shoe addiction is a real thing, man. Like, I didn’t even realize how much I love my kicks—until now,” he says.
The funniest part: He looks like an overworked salesman standing in the back of a shoe store. Behind him, boxes are…
