I’ve never owned a pair of Chuck Taylors before. It’s not because I hated them or anything, it’s just I grew up only being able to buy one new pair of shoes for school and I used that money on my basketball shoes for the year. For those of you who didn’t go to school with me, I wouldn’t know style or a good look even if it slapped me dressed in the morning. I still wear the same jeans and have the same black vans I’ve had since high school.

Since I’ve moved out to a new state I figured there would be no better way to make a fashion statement than finally owning my first pair of Chuck Taylors. I woke up early Saturday ambitious and eager to own my first pair of Chuck Taylors. I was in and out of the store in five minutes. I walked in and the guy asked me if I needed any help today. So I replied, “Yeah can I get a pair of black Chuck Taylors size ten please.” I walked out of there without trying them on. Hell, I didn’t look at them until I got to my car. He could have given me a kids purple pair and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Then when I got to my car I put my crocs in the shoe box, and started rocking my brand new black Chuck Taylors. I drove home cursing myself out the entire time, wondering why I never got a pair of these before. They instantly filled me with this new found confidence that I didn’t exist before. I think during that first week I owned them, the only time I took them off was when I was at work or in the shower. I actually slept with them on a couple of nights. That was until the night I ruined them.

Shortly after I had broken them in and started wearing them with some swag, my brother and our best friend (an honorary brother) came down to visit us. I mean if you saw me out that weekend when they were visiting us you would have to cover your eyes, or put on your sunglasses, or do something to protect your eyes from my shine when I would strut into a bar rocking those bad Larrys.

That Saturday night I was shining brighter than ever. I had my fresh new Chuck Taylors on my feet, I was rocking my brand new ripped jeans, (I know so cool I only wore them once) and had on my “lucky” underwear. I was feeling good, I was riding my high horse that night and I don’t think the devil’s juice helped me, I think it was the Chuck Taylors.

I became over confident, I guess one would call it cocky, and started heckling my brother telling him he can’t hop the fence around my apartment. He entertained the idea for a while but didn’t fall for my trap to see if he could actually hop the fence. He was ready to go out; he knew better than to try. Instead he used some sort of Jedi Mind trick and spun the table on me.

All he said to me was, “I bet you can’t even do it.” Instantly my mind took it as… challenge accepted. I stalled for a moment, asking him if he really thought I couldn’t do it while I was stretching. Personally I took it as an insult, I consider myself to be an athlete and hopping a fence was something I could do in my sleep… except for this fence.

I ran toward that fence like I was Benny the Jet did when he was running from Hercules. I had my fresh new pair of shoes (I know they’re not PF flyers but they’re pretty damn close) and leaped to hop the fence. My athleticism didn’t fail me as I was able to jump high enough to get over the fence, making it onto the other side proving my brother wrong.

Unfortunately I didn’t land on my feet. My shoe lace from my brand new Chuck Taylors got caught on the top of the fence totally throwing me off my landing. I wound up face first into the mud on the other side. My left shoe was untied and half of the lace was left hanging on the fence. My brothers were on the other side barely keeping it together laughing at me knee deep in the mud.

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I didn’t say a word. I walked along the fence like they did just on the muddy side until we met at the gate. As they walked out I walked in silently to go change my clothes. I couldn’t even look them in the eyes, I wasn’t ready to yet. All the confidence I had was left imprinted in the mud from where I tried to hop the fence. I made a walk of shame at six o clock on my way from changing my clothes so I could meet them at the bar.

I hate my Chuck Taylors and am reminded of it every Saturday nightwhen I put them on. It’s wicked hard to tie my left shoe because the lace is barely long enough to make two bunny ears. Making it even harder to double knot those things.