I finally was able to purchase my first pair of Timbs, but the love has been going on a decade strong.
A few months ago, I purchased my first pair of Timberland boots. I was slightly giddy inside as I walked into Foot Locker, but I was even more pleased as I perused the rows and rows of boots when my eyes fell instantly onto a dusty grey color. I hadn't seen a pair like this before, but I knew it was the one.
For those who see me in my day to day uniform, there is often some touch of grey in my ensemble. I also have my days where I bleed a range of color as evidenced on this blog, but grey has always been my go to. It screams an effortless cool to me, which is how I often see myself. How others see me, I'm not as sure, but that line of thought doesn't give me too much grief, and I often revert to my selfish desire to breathe the realest version of me.
All this talk about being my authentic self may seem strange since I am referring to a pair of boots. The thing is, my story with boots is long and it is unique. It reminds me of a time when I wasn't as sure of who the real me was, and my boots were perhaps, a peek into my real identity.
Ten years ago, at the urging of my parents, I joined an Emergency Medical Services (EMS) in my area. It was pushed onto me as a way to boost my resume to get into a good medical school. But I was a teenager and I didn't know what I wanted. I just knew I was supposed to be a doctor because that type of thinking was indirectly implied to me since I was four years old. I didn't know any different. I just knew I dreaded the moment when I would have to make that decision, and as as my teen years wore on, that moment felt impending.
Despite my inner turmoils, I begrudgingly accepted this 'resume booster' and began volunteering at the EMS station. In the initial weeks, my EMS 'leader' if you will, asked me to buy a pair of work boots. I never owned a pair, nor did anyone in my family, so I had no idea what he even meant, but I knew where to go.
I dragged my mom to the local Modell's to look at the work boots in stock, and I immediately fell in love with the tan Timberland. My mom saw the price tag of $140 dollars and cried "No. That is way too expensive for work boots." After a few minutes of traditional mother-daughter bickering, I found a more reasonable pair from a brand called Smiths, 'Smithsonians,' my one cousin loved to call them. Years later, people even began to associate me with Timbs, even though I never actually owned them. My Smiths never did get the recognition they deserved, or perhaps I didn't want them to.
I pretended that my boots were Timbs and no one knew the wiser. I loved my classic, tan boots. So much so, I wore them proudly as I walked into the EMS station the following week, but to my surprise, I was only met with laughter. "You were supposed to get the black work boots, not construction boots." I looked at my team embarrassingly, "How was I supposed to know that? You only said work boots. I didn't know what that meant." My team leader shrugged. "They'll work I suppose." And with that, I looked around and saw how this small act set me apart from the rest of the team; all of them united in black, and me, defiant in tan. Maybe I knew at that moment that I wasn't meant to go down the path of medicine, or maybe I didn't, but regardless, I treasured my boots, and was glad I chose what I desired, rather than let others influence my decision, albeit a small one.
This time in my life stayed with me. And even though those boots are long gone (I wore them to the bone for several years), I felt incomplete without them and knew one day I had to buy a real pair of Timbs, not some knockoff that somehow still reminds me of a certain museum.
When I finally bought my very first pair of Timberland boots, it reminded me of a moment when I was actually myself even when I was living an inauthentic version of that. These boots felt like an older version of me, a yester-me; as if I was meeting up with an old friend after some time had passed and I felt somewhat wiser upon meeting her.
If things were different, and I chose not to go down a career path that followed my heart rather than the artificial mechanics of American Desi culture, I may have looked at my old friend with dismay, but I see her and I welcome her. I see her and I smile, with open arms and an open heart.
Nordstrom Tights
Express Jeans
Timberland Kids Boots
Stuart Weitzman Handbag
Stuart Weitzman Handbag
Photos Taken With: Nikon D3200