Good Sole Souls
Something felt different to me when I walked into the Pfister the other day. I couldn’t immediately put my finger on it. But everyone I met seemed to have a perfect spring in his and her step.
Then, it struck me like the slap of butter soft calf skin across my face. It was the shoes. All the glorious shoes.
I find that one of life’s greatest treats is a comfortable and stylish pair of shoes. In that regard, I believe that the Allen Edmonds Shoe Company is peerless when it comes to creating footwear that hits upon the highest marks of style, comfort and craftsmanship. Those darned Allen Edmonds folks are so good at what they do that whenever I’m wearing a pair of their shoes, I always want to go to bed at night fully laced up.
All those scrumptious shoes on all those happy feet could be directly traced back to the fact that Allen Edmonds was holding an annual meeting for store managers and other key employees from around the country at the Pfister. For an Allen Edmonds-o-phile like myself, this gathering made my heart beat as fast as a tap dancer who has just had her seventeenth cup of coffee (can you imagine the sound an Allen Edmonds’ tap shoe would make…perish the thought, I won’t be able to sleep tonight thinking about it). I looked down hallways and across the lobby and in our restaurants and public spaces and my eyes kept beholding pair after pair of the most marvelous shoes in the world. I would have cried save for my fear of my tears falling on the toe of any of these leather beauties.
I have three pair of Allen Edmonds myself. I rotate them in my wardrobe as my shoe of choice for every visit I make to the Pfister. The immense regard I have for my current writing home is so great that it extends all the way to the tip of my foot. My feets need to look fine when I enter the building, so for me that means it’s Allen Edmonds all the way.
Watching perfectly shod men and women stroll around the Pfister was like being at a runway show with the world’s finest shoe models. I know that when I slip my foot into one of my pairs of Allen Edmonds’ I suddenly feel more confident and happier about my whole sense of being. I ultimately want to expand my joy to the world around me. I sensed that feeling of utter contentment coming from three of the most confident, poised, and handsome men I’ve ever seen grace the Pfister lobby. I would like to point out that this is quite an achievement since all our guests are stunning creatures. These guys had that special “it.” I was not surprised that the moment I saw their shoes, I was smitten in a “soleful” way.
Heron, Jeff and Derrick hail from Charlotte, Austin and Washington D.C. respectively. I approached them and found that I was plain and simply gobsmacked. These fellows felt seemed like superstars to me as I realized that my A.E. shoe fetish was stronger than I had ever imagined. As Heron turned to me and flashed a gazillion watt smile, I felt all my nerves melt away, immediately sucked into the tractor beam of charm coming from these three nice guys.
I confirmed that each man was wearing a spectacular Allen Edmonds’ design on his feet. Heron was sporting a Walnut colored Strand model, Jeff looked like his Chili shaded Leiden had been custom made for his foot, and Derrick wore a pair of Dark Brown Mora 2.0’s like he was the boss of that shoe.
These guys seemed to have a spotlight following them in the lobby of the Pfister, but here’s the secret of an Allen Edmonds man or woman. They will never be accused of an ounce of narcissism. It would have been easy for these men of substance to hold forth on their own amazing shoe choices, but instead they showed off that truly special quality of a really attractive person. They turned the spotlight away from themselves and immediately started to show in interest in getting to know me. Their eyes went to my own Allen Edmonds’, ones that I was embarrassed to admit looked like they needed a little shine.
“Oh, look at your shoes,” said Heron. “Those are Shreveports, aren’t they?”
Having these three guys ask me about my shoe of choice was sort of like having Steph Curry ask me to show him to hit a three-pointer at the buzzer. We chatted about shoes, we traded some fashion tips, and we smiled the smile of happy feet. The guys gave me their cards and told me if I was ever in their neck of the woods, I should look them up. I was happy, even if my wallet was screaming, “Look out! You’ll end up with fourteen more pair!”
I could tell Heron, Jeff and Derrick took pride in their work, and I asked how the conference had been.
“Fantastic, of course,” said Derrick. “How couldn’t it be in this marvelous hotel?”
Fellas, the feeling is mutual. Your classy looking feet somehow succeeded in classing up even the classiest of all joints.
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