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Manuel Paul’s post about Dr. Martens yesterday got me thinking about Monkey Boots, which, due to my over-protective parents, were the closest I ever got to the grunge footwear of choice.

Picture it: it was 1990 in a California suburb. It was the summer before 8th grade, and I was ready to leave the New Kids behind. It was a conscious choice–I’d just read a book about Nancy Spungen and done tons of research on Punk at the local library. I was going punk. There was no stopping me.

Well sort of. I did have my protective parents to contend with, and they weren’t thrilled with my plans. But what could they do? It was easy to transform the jeans I already owned into tightly cuffed pants that Joe Strummer would approve of, and there was that store Hot Topic that had just opened in the local mall, so $11 Ramones shirts were at my finger tips.

There was one big roadblock though: Doc Martens. No 12-year-old could afford $100 shoes, and they knew it. I begged, I pleaded, I cried. They still said no, arguing that “combat boots” were too expensive and too harsh for a pre-teen. What would the neighbors think?

I was so pissed, and it only got worse when the parents of my poser best friend bought them for her after she had jaw surgery. I would have totally slurped my meals from a straw for a pair of Docs!

They were willing to compromise, though, and buy me Monkey Boots (at the Wild Pair!). It was a weak concession, but I took what I could get. And I wore those things everyday until, thankfully, I found Brit Pop and Indie Rock, which my parents had no beef with. They bought me all the colorful Adidas and One Star Converse I wanted.

Now, with Docs coming back, I’m tempted to live out my adolescent dreams. I might. We’ll see.

-V. Thread