CULTURE SHOCK
In advance of a hiking holiday in Germany, my friends insisted that I purchase proper boots. But when I researched the brand they recommended I was horrified: by the company’s tagline (”Shoes for Actives”), by the fact that all the shoes are unisex, and by the ungainliness of the designs. I looked at other brands and found that all the available styles, even those specifically for women, looked like orthopedic shoes for hippies. Obviously hiking boots need to offer support, water-tightness, agility, and durability. But do they need to have bloated profiles and drab colors (mud brown, dust grey, fungus green)? My friend Anne hiked in an old pair of traditional mountain climbing boots. They were mannish, in rough brown leather with thick black rubber
soles and red laces, but they gave off a whiff of Alpine charm. Modern hiking boots offer no style at all.
On the trails with my friends, I joked continually about how I could make my boots socially acceptable in New York: by adding brightly colored laces, by spray-painting them gold, by wearing them unlaced. But there’s a real business challenge here: to make a hiking shoe that offers authenticity, technology, and glamor. At a time when sassy details from running shoes (thick colored soles,
breathable synthetics, neon accents) have made their way into mens and womens dress shoes, why haven’t they made a mark on hiking boots? Serious hikers would respond to a better-looking shoe, and novices would be more eager to invest in a pair. Non-hikers would use them for weather. Certainly there’s a way to make a hiking boot that also lives up to the challenges of city living: icy sidewalks, ankle-deep puddles, salt, dog piss, and fashion?