They say it happens in all relationships: One day you’re the picture of bliss, the next, well, you’re . . . restless. There is a sudden urge for something a little different—a little variety, perhaps, a little something else. Well, it happened in mine. Specifically, it happened in my closet.
Ugg boots came into my life sometime shortly after I reconnected with an erstwhile West Coast–bred friend at my New Hampshire boarding school. There was something about their Australian provenance, how the sheepskin kept your feet warm in winter and cool in summer, despite the thickly shaggy interiors; their unending comfort, their popularity with the new neo-bohemians, with surf culture and Abbot Kinney, with the ease with which I might walk through the snow and crisply stinging late winter chill to classes, late afternoon sports practice, and “seated meals,” where I would kick them off at the dining hall and slip into something more formal, all day long feeling like my feet were encased in plush pillows. (“You don’t even need socks!” I remember my friend saying, and that proved mostly true.) Plus, the sand-colored suede looked good with jeans, and I think the unifying consensus was that they looked like the type of moon boot that ballerinas might wear offstage. Friends, I dove right in. I wore them until they nearly disintegrated. (Admittedly, I did not spring for the waterproofing spray: Those sheepherders apparently thrive in a more arid climate than mine.) I was warm, I was comfortable, I plodded along through any and all weather, through various climates, on planes, trains, and automobiles, down busy city streets and deep into the woods for long weekends away. We were happy.
I don’t have to tell you what happened next. But suffice to say that I began to feel like I needed something beyond what they were providing. Something a little less ubiquitous. (Sure, they were beloved by tabloid fixtures and mall rats alike, andBritney Spears began basically living in them as she bopped in and out of gas stations, raising her young brood and likely training them to deliver Marlboro Lights by crooning for “mommy’s lollipops,” but that wasn’t their fault.) What we had was real, but between some particularly aggressive salt on a city street and my high school graduation, it became clear that it was time to step out. I’m not saying it was right, but I’m saying it was right for me.
Friends, I’ve found new boots to add to my rotation—and I’ve never been happier. Between my updated Uggs (no laces required for early morning dog-walking), my deep-freeze-approved Sorels, which took me to the far, far, below sub-zero Adirondacks and back, all ten toes intact, my shearling-lined L.L. Bean boots and my latest find, I am cozy, comfortable, and here to proselytize. And that new love in my life? Meet Quoddy: the entirely ugly-pretty and insanely warm, comfy-cozy never-look-back footwear of my dreams. Thick-soled and custom-made (with pride!) by hand in Maine, they’re not cheap, but they’re meant to last a lifetime—a claim that will soon be put to the test, with the frequency that my colleagues at theVogue office have been wearing theirs. The label’s moccasins and penny loafers are charm incarnate, it’s true, but these frozen days (and nights), it’s all about the sheepskin-lined, memory-foam-padded Twinstrap boots. One part Nanook of the North, one part The Lord of the Rings (those ring-closures!), one part prep (we are talking Maine, after all), all totally authentic, hand-hewn luxurious comfort. And chances are, not all of your friends will be wearing them, too. (Not yet, anyway.) Who says you only get one great love?
Quoddy Twinstrap boot, $450
Sorel women’s Caribou boot, $140
L.L. Bean Women’s 10-inch shearling lined boot, $199
