My favourite shoe

In a wardrobe littered with vintage heels, peep-toed courts, platforms and ballet flats, my Converse All-Stars stick out by a mile. Dirty, holey and on the brink of death, they’re the scruffiest shoes I own – and the ones I love the most. I remember the first pair I ever brought. Growing up on a farm I was desperately uncool as a kid – dungarees, woolly ‘animal scene’ jumpers and matching t-shirts and leggings being the sum of my wardrobe. But that soon changed (thank GOD).

As an angst-ridden teenager of the 1990’s, I idolised grunge bands like Nirvana and Incubus and hankered after their wardrobe of dishevelled jeans, plaid shirts and, of course, the ubiquitous All-Star trainer. Chuck Taylor may have given it superstar status way back in 1917 – before it rose to cooler than thou fame again in the rockability 1950’s and punk era of the 1970’s – but to me, as the shoe of my youth, those moody days of the late nineties was where my love affair started. When I slipped my feet into my very first pair – black high tops with gleaming white laces – they felt so amazing I practically bounced on paving stones made of clouds all the way home. They were comfy, lightweight, and without doubt, the coolest things I owned.


All-Stars have been a barometer of happy memories throughout my life. First gigs, first dates, first days at college... I even fell in love with my boyfriend over a pair. But perhaps one of the greatest things about them is their versatility. Anyone can own a pair of Converse All-Stars. They transcend age, gender and wealth, and there’s not one snoot of snobbery about wearing this sports trainer as a shoe in its own right – unlike sister athletic brands of say Adidas or Nike. They’re in a league of their own and their style potential is boundless. Equally great teamed with a floral tea dress and some pop socks than a lumberjack shirt and skinny jeans, they’re the perfect finishing touch to an outfit come summer, winter, rain or shine. You could even go all Florence Welch and team yours with a pair of glittery gold hot pants and a lace bolero.

And there are just so many styles to choose from you’ll never get stuck in a fashion rut. A never-ending rainbow of candyfloss pink, metallic gold, mint green, sunshine yellow, stripes, stars, spots – even ones emblazoned with colourful cartoons. Converse All-Stars; they’re their very own walk of fame.

Rant

Call me old fashioned, but isn’t anyone bored of Herve Leger bandage dresses yet? Yes they’re sleek, glamourous and enough to get any man’s eyes bulging out of his head like the “awooooga” dog in The Mask (if so inclined). But come on. They make anyone who doesn’t have a figure like Bar Refaeli look like a human tire stack on legs. And they may claim to be the high-end version of Spanx, but last time I checked, if you have tubby bits it doesn’t just go away if you squeeze something tight over it; it gets bulged out of some other unforgiving part of your body. And a muffin-top back or roly-poly knees isn't a good look for anybody.

And aren’t they just a bit boring? Strips of lycra sewn together to create, in essence, a human-shaped inner tube. Yawn. I’ll admit the designs have recently become more creative, moving on in terms of colour and print and even experimenting with texture – a streak of sequins here, a plume of chiffon there. And Rachel Bilson looked adorable when she teamed her caramel design with boho hair and a vintage clutch. But she’s the exception to the rule. For the rest of us they’re fundamentally an elasticated cylinder you squeeze into before spending the rest of the evening sucking your tummy in and hoping to God you don’t get wind.

To add to my infurity, the body con dress is so overdone. Victoria Beckham’s worn one, Lindsey Lohan’s worn one – hell, even Beth Ditto’s pulled and tugged her voluminous curves into a flurry of rainbow bright designs. And away from the starry lights of celebrity land it’s the uniform of the chav. Just look how many cheap, knock-off designs are slicked upon ex Big Brother housemates in Whisky Mist and you see my point.

Herve Leger bandage dresses, I implore you. You’ve been around for 25 years. That’s long enough for anyone; most of all me. So bow down gracefully (careful not to pop a seam) and let some other sucker have a go.