I have new sneakers. Like most things I wear which are not from thrift stores, I got them from a sale rack. Manufacturers have an inflated sense of the worth of their productions, egged on by consumers conditioned to pay too much for too little. Not me. I don't really need anything, so can bide my time stalking an item in wait for inevitable markdowns. The latest thing, the most modish and heavily marketed, sells out. Things of lasting value tend to linger on fashion's shelf. Which is great for me - It's like Priceline; they meet my bid or I just don't bother. I'm still particular though. This pair is extremely comfortable, as anything I wear must be - I won't suffer for style, ever. They are meticulously crafted; supple vamps tongues and counters fully lined with soft calf skin, then stitched to leather mid soles with hard rubber out soles stitched to that - no vinyl, no fabric, no plastic - like good dress shoes used to be cobbled before everything was moulded in vaccuum presses in Mexico and China. Whatever style they do have is minimal; they look just like any other old fashioned pair; like a cartoon drawing of 70's sneakers. In that they are like all of my favorite things; not seemingly worth a second glance - but if and when you do look further, a precision of craft and richness of materials presents itself. Each time I fish them out of the pile on the floor by the bed I can't help but admire them, marveling at the complexity and precision of the make and the resulting simplicity of the final effort. Practical, enduring and understated - pretty on the inside for no one else but me. I like 'em.