I was nine when I purchased my first pair of you. Having had a growth spurt pretty young, and being 5’7 with size eight feet, relatives kept explaining to me that I had to dress more ‘femininely’ and wear dainty shoes to minimise my stature. I scoffed at this.
I spent the formative years of my life in Camden, witnessing multitudes of free-thinking artists, musicians and creatives all wearing Dr Martens. Infatuated with the idea of what you represented – rebellion, freedom, and self-expression – when I then stumbled upon a brown leather pair in TKMaxx, I knew they had to be mine.
You’ve been worn by generations of rulebreakers and once I tied your laces, it was as if I was somehow synonymous with this quirky, exciting community. My obsession only grew with time, and after saving Christmas and Birthday money and working part-time, I began to amass quite the collection of brogues, boots, and brightly coloured sandals.
Everyone I mention it to is always astounded by the fact that I now own about thirty pairs, but I feel as if you’ve become part of my identity, and there’s always more of a bounce in my step wearing you.