I Don’t Have Massive Closets Filled With Shoes Like Christina Aguilera Elton John, Oprah, or Khloe Kardashian

What I do have are three eras of beloved boots.

My second-favorite boots were cowboy boots — any color, new or used. I often bought used boots at a weekend flea market.

The boots were usually bigger than the cowboy boots I bought new. The flea market boots were often scuffed up and road weary, but they were all part of the Western aesthetic I aimed for in my late 30s and 40s when cowboy style was a hipster look.

I also searched second-hand clothing stores for beautiful cowboy shirts with white-coated snaps. They were usually big for me, but I sometimes found a men’s small size that fit perfectly.

I also wore a silver chunky horseshoe necklace day and night. I rarely took it off. An ex-girlfriend had gifted it to me. I seldom wear it now because it makes my random eczema break out. But I can wear it for several hours for appointments and meals with friends.

Funny thing — I’m a wannabe urban cowboy. I’ve never once taken a ride on a mechanical bull in a sports bar. I’ve never participated in a real rodeo. I’ve watched plenty of them.

I grew up near a polytechnic college with a big agriculture department. Many authentic cowboys were enrolled there. I’d often run across cowboys wandering the downtown neighborhoods with their felt hats and polished fancy cowboy boots.

I always considered cowboys to be badass. I made friends with some local cowboys when my two mid-twenties-aged female mentors snuck me into McClintock’s, the main cowboy bar downtown. They also helped me get a fake ID. There was a great cowboy band that often played in that downtown bar.

Sometimes I’d drive south to the main McClintock’s restaurant in Shell Beach. There were fewer authentic cowboys there. But one of my female mentors often sang in the restaurant bar. She had a beautiful voice and an Ovation Guitar to match.

She sang all the music I loved by Emmy Lou Harris, Linda Ronstadt, Bonnie Raitt, Dolly Parton, and Loretta Lynn. She also played songs t she had written, which were simple, heartfelt, and powerful. She played one about her younger sister, who was killed in a car crash the prior year. It always made me tear up.

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The most beloved boots I ever wore were Harley Davidson’s. I fell in love with them in my early 30s when I was in a relationship with a woman who wore short mid-calf motorcycle boots or full-length Harley Boots with the eagle logo.

She was the biggest badass lesbian I’d ever met. We met at a weekly LGBT AA meeting in Bellingham. She had moved back home from Seattle to protect her sobriety and work in a family-owned landscaping business with her brother and father.

She had worked at various service jobs in Seattle, including as a dominatrix for several years. That was one something she had been trying to sort out with her — AA sponsor. The dominatrix’s job was all tied up — no pun intended — in her drinking. It did give her some fascinating stories to tell. I didn’t feel tough enough to wear motorcycle boots at that time.

When I finally got my first pair of full-length boots, I was living with a different girlfriend in Seattle. Doc Martin Boots were popular then, but I preferred a different style.

The Harley Davidson Boots I started wearing were loose and comfortable and had thick, three-layered soles. That feature turned out to be lifesaving, or at least injury-minimizing.

When I was on my second pair of motorcycle boots and working at a literary center, we held a 9–11 memorial reading in early October 2001. The two theaters were packed.

My excellent friend, Jeb, watched as I walked toward the control room, where he was monitoring sound and lighting. I needed him to fix the sound. He gestured to me to stop. I was walking on a plank floor toward Jeb until the plank stopped, but I kept walking on air and fell ten feet mid-step.

Those motorcycle boot soles absorbed the major impact of the fall and helped cushion the second part of my fall to one side. Finally, I hit my head on the floor. Jeb came down immediately to help. My head was bleeding, so he drove me to the ER for stitches.

That was the day I realized the motorcycle boots were not only badass, but they also prevented my having broken ankles or feet. This enhanced my respect and love for the boots and my friend, Jeb.

My third favorite boots were a consolation discovery. They were the brand of boots I wore last week when my foot got stuck under a metal post. When I pulled my foot out from under the pole, the top of my shoe ripped off.

It didn’t come all the way off. I used gorilla tape to hold down a makeshift patch for a few days. I kept adding pieces of tape until the shoe was barely visible. I decided I needed a new approach.

I ripped off all the tape and took the ankle boots to my favorite shoe repair guy. His shop is surrounded by banks now. He says they keep trying to buy his space, but he says he would never sell to a big corporation.

He glued on a permanent patch, then stitched it thoroughly. The shoe returned to its former integrity. He even thought it would be fine in the rainy months.

That pair of boots, was well well-padded and the heels were still in good shape.

I tend to be hard on shoes, walking six miles every day, which wears down the thickest soles.

After I stubbornly refused to abide by my pediatrist’s advice to stop wearing cowboy and motorcycle boots — my feet weren’t well supported. I ignored his suggestions until walking became painful.

That’s when I found an online company from Israel called Naot. Their boot designs focus on maximum cushioning and durability. Naot boots have also become more stylish and interesting over the years. The boot that got stuck under the pole was a Naot ankle boot.

I always promote Naot to friends. I’ve finally settled into a quiet, accepting passion for the brand.

What makes me feel badass has become much less important than what makes my feet happy.