Okay, this may not be such a guy thing to admit, but I like shoes. Flip flops or airy sandals for those hot summer days on the beach. Comfy deck shoes for lounging around (preferably on a deck -- boat or patio doesn't matter). Boots with lots of chrome for when I'm riding the motorcycle or dating a Goth girl, whichever happens to apply at the moment. Tennis shoes for sports, going to the grocery store, and just about any other time of day or year.

Zip boots, shoes with strange colors and designs, practical shoes, impractical shoes, shoes with holes in them, shoes with bangles (I don't really know what a bangle is, but I'm sure it would look nifty on a shoe). Penny loafers, quarter loafers, buck-and-a-half loafers. Patent leather dress shoes, waterproof hiking boots, "sticky" rock climbing shoes, cowboy boots. All have merit in the eyes of a shoe connoisseur.

I'm not going to go so far as to say it's a fetish. I don't spend every waking moment thinking about shoes. I don't compulsively glance down at the feet of everyone I meet on the street to see what they're wearing. I don't have a walk-in closet devoted to footwear (in my house, I'm lucky to have a closet large enough for my shirts). I don't even own that many pairs of shoes. But I think that shoes say something important about who we are.

A pair of pink leather thigh-high boots on a girl says that she's daring, confident, and possibly from 1960s Britain. A beaten pair of cowboy boots on a guy says he's comfortable with who he is and that who he is is a hard working, outdoorsy sort of fellow, possibly a left-over from a Marlborough ad from the 90s. Red boaters, skull and crossed bones flip flops, and Nikes that light up -- all these reflect some aspect of the personality of the very, very individual who wears them. Our choice of footwear tells the world how we want to be perceived, whether that be serious, playful, happy, sad, dark, or boisterous. Shoes, not eyes, are the windows to the soul.

Of course, a good pair of shoes should be comfortable. For me, they should also be versatile. For years, I've spent a great deal of time and a considerable amount of cold, hard cash, trying to find the perfect pair of shoes. What I'm looking for are shoes that can be worn hiking the backcountry, worn to the opening of a night club, worn for whatever professional endeavor I might be engaged in, and, when worn, feel like I'm not wearing anything at all on my feet.

This is not an easy pair of shoes to track down. The floor of my closet (under the shirts) is littered with the debris of this quest. I have big clunky shoes that seemed like a good idea at the time, summery loafers, sandals by the box full, and a detritus of hiking boots that failed me in one way or another.

I may have finally given up on ever finding such a pair of primal, perfect shoes. Just this evening, for instance, after subjecting a friend of mine to forty-five minutes of me mulling over the relative merits of two pairs of nearly identical tennis shoes, I finally bought the ones I found slightly more aesthetically pleasing. They're white with black dots (if I say "polka dots" I'll lose any and all credibility I've ever had, so I'm just not going to say it). Given my, erm, laid back wardrobe (which involves cargo shorts and a T-shirt as much as possible), these are about as multi-purpose as I can get. They will be just as useful and fashionable whether I'm wearing them with the aforementioned shorts and T-shirts at the beach or at a pizzeria, or if I'm wearing them while teaching in slacks and a button up shirt to an adoring horde of college students. (Okay, you'd have to see the slacks and button up shirts I wear, but trust me, these shoes go with the outfit).

But I can't wear them hiking. I probably shouldn't wear them when I'm riding my motorcycle, and I almost certainly shouldn't wear them if I ever find myself on a deep sea oil rig (hey, it might happen -- a person has to be prepared).

Also, my friend will never get back the forty-five minutes we spent at the shoe store. Still, the perfect shoes are out there. Somewhere.

I've just got to keep walking until I find them.

The author has refused to reveal the exact number and type of shoes that he owns. We didn't really want to know anyway. If you'd like to tell him what sort of shoes you wear, he may be contacted at parablehead@yahoo.com