“Don’t judge men’s wealth…by their Sunday appearance.” -Benjamin Franklin
“…there’s an awful lot you could tell about a person by their shoes.”
– Forest Gump
Last night while riding the F train home from work, I began to notice the different types of shoes other passengers were wearing. I saw shiny and pointy mens footwear worn by the Wall Street crowd that resembled the aerodynamic curves of race cars, dirty sneakers on toddlers, huge boots with giant Afro puffs of faux fur shooting out from the tops of a woman’s boots. From the entitled expression of both her face and clothing, I wagered a bet with myself that the woman with the furry boots has never worked a real job in her life.
I suddenly spotted a pair of reasonable work shoes, the kind that have a thick, sneaker-like souls and metal-rimmed shoe lace holes. Their balding, middle-aged owner was wearing what must have been a pair of department store slacks, a winter coat that was at least 10 years old and was holding a canvas three way cross between a brief case, duffel and some kind of messenger bag. The reasonably dressed man got off at 15th Street Prospect Park. I’d be willing to bet he was the wealthiest individual in the train car.