The Embarrassment of New

A note on white sneakers, shame, and the humiliating fact that everyone knows you tried.

I was bold.

Well, I tried running and it killed my dad… so I guess I’ll start a Substack.

Is there anything more embarrassing than new?

Wearing a pair of bright white sneakers in public for the first time. The sun shining on them. Blinding people as they drive by.

Last summer, I bought a white pair of Nike Cortez and walked them through the nearby park until the picture-day shine was gone, before wearing them anywhere that actually mattered.

As I struggled with my disappearing hair, I did what any sensible person would do: I got the buzz cut. Around the same time, Channing was riding around with Zoë on his pegs. Though I am sad to report I was not an exact clone, it worked.

People liked it.

But the first time you see people after a change, the attention you get far exceeds what is appropriate for a grown man. They all knew the embarrassing fact that I tried. That I was self-conscious about something.

This is the true embarrassment of new: putting yourself out there.

None of this has stopped me.

When you love silly little outfits — the name of my menswear group chat on IG — you can never stop searching for and ringing the shame bell on something new.

Recently, in my search for slutty silver jewelry, I came across Gottlob and bought a silver necklace.

I have never been one for necklaces outside of a cross at my baptism and a misguided era where I wore a rose gold Cuban trying to get in touch with my Staten Island roots. But I took a shot.

Then came the usual questions, including one of my employees asking me if it was a family heirloom because it just doesn’t feel like me.

Nevertheless, I prevailed. I overcame the shame of new and have a new daily driver.

Though I wish I could say that all of my risky purchases go off without a hitch, even the most coveted items sometimes fall flat.

After weeks of deliberating, I pulled the trigger on an awesome MFPEN sweater.

Unfortunately, it did not fit anywhere close to how I imagined. It would never see the light of day on my body, despite being something I thought was surely going to be a staple in my rotation.

It left my spirit deflated and my body inflated.

Sometimes the worst part about trying is trying on.

New was not always like this, though.

New used to be met with anticipation and promise.

In 2004, fresh off Kevin Garnett’s MVP season, Adidas blessed us with the KG1. I had to have them.

After a lifetime of wearing Shaqs and, at the time, uncool New Balances due to my mother’s insistence that I had a wide foot — a statement I think is her own version of Munchausen by proxy — the KG1s would be my back-to-school shoe.

Growing up in a working-class family, as you may know, the back-to-school shoe was a huge decision that would anchor my outfits for the foreseeable future.

Choosing the quilted white pair — before new white shoes made me want to crawl in a hole and die — was bold.

I was bold.

My obsession with clothing and what I wore came at a very young age, and though outwardly it ebbs and flows and I fall into a uniform like most others, the love remains the same.

That is what we will do here: explore that love with a few other things that I feel I have more authority on than others for no real reason other than I like how I do it.

I’ll tell you my size — probably only if you ask.

I’ll link you to things I think are good. I won’t get paid for it, and I’ll tell you what I paid.

I’ll do my best not to list the five best shoes to wear this summer or clothes you can wear from the office to the course to date night.

And if I’m talking out my ass, I’ll tell you upfront.

I will chase trends and regret it. I’ll tell you when the fit bricked.

Example: the Tom Ford ballet flats I have been wrestling with for the past few weeks, which my wife has made clear are hideous and should remain between me, Tom Ford, and my group chat. I can promise you that if I could find a 14, they would be purchased and regretted.

Now for the embarrassment: the public shame of putting yourself out there, most likely to abandon it and have it remain online forever in the graveyard of fitness-journey accounts, cooking accounts, and dog accounts.

But why not give it a shot?

This may end up being the next KG1.

I would ask you to subscribe, but I am not as bold as I once was.

— SP