I always say to people, the Eighties were so inventive because people wanted to stand out. By the time we got to the Nineties, everyone wanted to fit in. It was all about having the same pair of trainers and the same pair of jeans. That's fatal. Whereas the Eighties you would never be seen in the same pair of jeans that somebody else was wearing.
The only footwear I need is an inexpensive pair of blue sneakers. They have soft fabric tops and soft rubber-like soles. I get them one size too large so I can wiggle my toes. I feel as free as though I were barefoot! And I can usually get 1,500 miles to a pair. I wear a pair of navy blue socks.There's a reason why I chose navy blue for my wearing apparel-it's a very practical color, doesn't show dirt, and the color blue does represent peace and spirituality.
I've slipped enough times over the years to know the peril of a too-smooth sole, so every time I buy a new pair, I take a pair of scissors or a piece of sandpaper to the bottoms to roughen them up. In my catwalk days, I even used to spit on the soles of shoes before I ventured down the runway.
If I'm going to spunk £500 on a pair of designer shoes, it's going to be a pair that I can a) dance to Bad Romance in and b) will allow me to run away from a murderer, should one suddenly decide to give chase. That's the minimum I ask from my footwear. To be able to dance in it, and for it not to get me murdered.
You all set?' he asked, tossing me a pair of sunglasses. 'Wow, nice.' I felt the frame, rubbing my finger over the lenses to wipe away a smudge. 'Not bad, Phoenix.' 'Twinkies.' He slid his pair on and adjusted the gun across his chest. 'Told you. Breakfast of champions." - Skylla and Jet
I am reminded of a piece of advice my father gave me regarding shoes. ...He said it is better to buy one good pair of shoes than four cheap ones. One pair made of fine leather could outlast four inferior pairs and, if well-cared-for, would continue to proclaim your good judgment and taste no matter how old they become.
If you get up in the morning and wear a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and some flip-flops, it's a signal that you might be going to the beach. If you get up in the morning and you wear a breast plate and a back plate and a cape and a pair of golden Satanic horns on your head, it's quite clear that you're doing something else.
Whenever I go into Bloomingdales, I head to the womens shoe section and think, Hmm, maybe Ill get my next girlfriend a pair of those. I always buy my mom Louboutins or Jimmy Choos for her birthday. I have a pretty good sense of style, all in all. Once I figure out a woman, I know what she should wear - which comes in handy when you have a mom and girlfriends. You can always make them happy with a nice bag or a pair of pumps.
She's a yellow pair of running shoes, a holey pair of jeans. She looks great in cheap sunglasses, she looks great in anything. She's, "I want a piece of chocolate cake; take me to a movie." She's a, "I can't find a thing to wear." Now and then she's moody. She's a Saturn with a sunroof with her brown hair blowing. She's a warm conversation I wouldn't miss for nothing. She's a fighter when she's mad and she's a lover when she's lovin'.
After a universal silence, Leo was the first to speak. 'Did anyone else notice-' 'Yes, ' Catherine said. 'What do you make of it?' 'I haven't decided yet.' Leo frowned and took a sip of port. 'He's not someone I would pair Bea with.' 'Whom would you pair her with?' 'Hanged if I know, ' Leo said. 'Someone with similar interests. The local veterinarian, perhaps?' 'He's eighty-three years old and deaf, ' Catherine said. 'They would never argue, ' Leo pointed out.
After a universal silence, Leo was the first to speak. "Did anyone else notice""" "Yes," Catherine said. "What do you make of it?" "I haven't decided yet." Leo frowned and took a sip of port. "He's not someone I would pair Bea with." "Whom would you pair her with?" "Hanged if I know," Leo said. "Someone with similar interests. The local veterinarian, perhaps?" "He's eighty-three years old and deaf," Catherine said. "They would never argue," Leo pointed out.
Bought a pair of boots the other day, and they was some silicone gel in there. Big red letters said, "Do not eat." Do they really need that stuff in them boots? Is there really some dude opening a pair of boots goin', "Boy, look at them boots. What the hell? I better eat that. I don't know what the hell that is."
Larry the Cable Guy
Right now, all white people are either wearing or coveting a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses. These sunglasses are so popular now that you cannot swing a canvas bag at a farmer's market without hitting a pair. In fact, at outdoor gatherings you should count the number of Wayfarers so you can determine exactly how white the event is. If you see no Wayfarers you are either at a country music concert or you are indoors.
Likewise the piercing of the body for multiple rings in the ears, in the nose, even in the tongue. Can they possibly think that is beautiful? It is a passing fancy, but its effects can be permanent. Some have gone to such extremes that the ring had to be removed by surgery. The First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve have declared that we discourage tattoos and also "the piercing of the body for other than medical purposes." We do not, however, take any position "on the minimal piercing of the ears by women for one pair of earrings"-one pair only.
Gordon B. Hinckley
Customers have a first moment when they discover your brand. If you were to look at it today with a fresh pair of eyes, in fact only through a pair of fresh customer eyes and witness your brand for the very first time, what would you see? What impression would make? Or fail to make? Would your brand blend in? Would it stand out? Would it be memorable, or the leading cause of amnesia amongst shoppers everywhere? Facing the truth of this and fixing it as needed will determine whether your brand thrives or merely stumbles along.
Who is Tom? There is no Tom. If we sell a pair of shoes today, we give away a pair of shoes tomorrow. Originally we thought of "Tomorrow's Shoes," but I could only fit "TOMS" on the label. I had no idea everybody would want to meet him. There is no Tom; it's an idea for a better tomorrow.
The smooth, flat rocks were exactly the same, the sea pounded down on them in the same way, and also the landscape under the water, with its small valleys and bays and steep chasms and slopes, strewn with starfish and sea urchins, crabs and fish, was the same. You could still buy Slazenger tennis rackets, Tretorn balls, and Rossignol skis, Tyrolia bindings and Koflach boots. The houses where we lived were still standing, all of them. The sole difference, which is the difference between a child's reality and an adult's, was that they were no longer laden with meaning. A pair of Le Coq soccer boots was just a pair of soccer boots. If I felt anything when I held a pair in my hands now it was only a hangover from my childhood, nothing else, nothing in itself. The same with the sea, the same with the rocks, the same with the taste of salt that could fill your summer days to saturation, now it was just salt, end of story. The world was the same, yet it wasn't, for its meaning had been displaced, and was still being displaced, approaching closer and closer to meaninglessness.
Karl Ove Knausge¥rd
THE PLAQUE read HARVEY GOULD, P I. It was the middle of the day, but the blinds were closed. Inside a desktop sat flanked by three non-matching chairs, a creased, leather sofa and a bookcase full of fiction. A middle-aged man lay back with a pair of briefs hanging around his ankles. A gorgeous, young lady was bent over him in a pair of pink panties that stretched over her pert buttocks. Her head was bobbing up and down and her long, thick black hair swished around her neck with each bob. Harvey lay motionless, moaning.
The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money. Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles. But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet. This was the Captain Samuel Vimes 'Boots' theory of socioeconomic unfairness.
No respect for beauty - that was characteristic of today's society. The work of the great masters were at most employed as ironic references or in advertising. Michelangelo's "The Creation of Adam " where you see a pair of jeans in place of the spark. The whole point of the picture at least as he saw it was that these two monumental bodies each came to an end in two index fingers that almost but not quite touched. There was a space between them a millimeter or so wide. And in this space: life. The sculptural enormity and richness of detail of this picture was simply a frame a backdrop to emphasize the crucial void in the center. The point of emptiness that contained everything. And in its place someone had superimposed a pair of jeans.
John Ajvide Lindqvist
Seconds later, the female security officer grabbed a pair of my father's shorts from the top of the duffel bag, and emptied out the contents of his pockets. A lighter, three nail files, a pocket wrench, a pair of pliers, a screwdriver, and a nectarine fell onto the folding table. I looked at the woman, looked at my father, and then looked around to see if anyone else was watching. "What's the problem?" my father asked the woman. "Sir, I'm going to have to take this lighter away from you, " she said. "The lighter?" I asked her. "What about the bomb kit he's carrying around? He could do a lot more damage to a person with that wrench." "I need the wrench!" he shrieked. "For what?" "What if something goes wrong with the plane?
Says O'Sullivan to me, "Mr. Fay, I'll have a word wid yeh?" "Certainly, " says I; "what can I do for you?" "Sell me your sea- boots, Mr. Fay, " says O'Sullivan, polite as can be. "But what will you be wantin' of them?" says I. "'Twill be a great favour, " says O'Sullivan. "But it's my only pair, " says I; "and you have a pair of your own, " says I. "Mr. Fay, I'll be needin' me own in bad weather, " says O'Sullivan. "Besides, " says I, "you have no money." "I'll pay for them when we pay off in Seattle, " says O'Sullivan. "I'll not do it, " says I; "besides, you're not tellin' me what you'll be doin' with them." "But I will tell yeh, " says O'Sullivan; "I'm wantin' to throw 'em over the side." And with that I turns to walk away, but O'Sullivan says, very polite and seducin'-like, still a-stroppin' the razor, "Mr. Fay, " says he, "will you kindly step this way an' have your throat cut?" And with that I knew my life was in danger, and I have come to make report to you, sir, that the man is a violent lunatic.