On Buying Things You Can't Really Afford

I bought the shoes on a Tuesday in March. They cost more than my first month's rent in my first apartment, which feels like information I shouldn't say out loud, so I'll type it instead.

The Rick Owens DRKSHDW Ramones Hi. Black leather. Chunky sole. The kind of shoes that look like a philosophical statement about footwear. I'd been watching a pair in my size on Grailed for four months. When the price dropped for the third time, I made a decision I hadn't fully thought through.

What I told myself at the time: they're an investment piece. I'll wear them for decades. Cost per wear makes this rational.

What was actually happening: I wanted to own the thing I kept looking at. I wanted to stop wanting it and start having it.

The shoes arrived in an enormous box that felt dramatic. I put them on, walked around my apartment, looked at them in the mirror from several angles. They looked exactly like they were supposed to look. I felt exactly the way I expected to feel, which is to say — good, but not transformed.

This is the part nobody tells you about fashion: acquisition and desire are different systems. Desire is ongoing and interesting. Acquisition resolves it, and resolution is never quite as satisfying as you expect.

I still wear the shoes constantly. I still think they're beautiful. But the lesson I've been slow to learn is that the wanting is the interesting part. The having is just maintenance.