I frequently struggle with VISVIM. Yes, I know, it’s cool because it costs every last fuck in your wallet. I get that it’s all made from Pegasus’ tail and Valyrian Vibranium. I understand that when a crafts-person begins making a pair of VISVIM boots, they’re entitled to a free bus pass by the time they’re finished.
It’s just to me, the brand mostly makes clothes that look like you found them in a wheelie bin. And not a good wheelie bin. A wheelie bin outside a bungalow belonging to an old man who wears tight jeans covered in motor oil badges and has shoulder length hair around the sides and back but a massive bald circle on the top of his head. A man who still listens to Springsteen and does that fucking ‘horn fingers’ bullshit if he sees you across the street.
For me, most VISVIM is a bit too plaid, a bit too weathered, a bit too tatty. These shoes however, are not.
Called the Beuys Trekker-Folk, these shoes, or boots really, look beautiful. They’re made of vegetable-tanned Horween suede – which I presume is vaguely rare and thus good. They’ve got a chemical-free, natural crepe sole. Now, I do tend to dislike crepe soles, natural or otherwise. Primarily because they get stupid-dirty really easily and the combined might of the globe’s scientific mind hasn’t yet figured out a way to clean them. This I see as a negative. However brands keep making crepe soles and people keep buying them. I can only assume the inevitable dirtiness is, in some way, desirable.
I’m at the other end of the spectrum. These are spectacularly good-looking items of footwear, exactly as they are. In my head, if I wear them, they’ll become marginally less good-looking. That rich chocolate suede will start to crease and fade. The EVA phylon heel panel will start to show the knocks. The leather laces will lose their lustre. Those tassels will begin to curl. Of course I understand this is unavoidable with any shoes. But I wonder if I just don’t get VISVIM? Do aficionados of the brand find glamour in deterioration? Is the aim to spend a fortune to look bankrupt? I couldn’t bare to see these £600 shoes slowly devolve into a punctured and prostrate version of themselves. As soon as they started to show wear, I’d have to buy some more. Which is probably why I don’t look bankrupt, but actually am.