Me And My Adidas

Anniki Sommerville - 2 Feb 16

Growing up in South London in the late eighties, trainers were EVERYTHING. They told the other girls at school how cool you were. And it was paramount to get it right or you’d be a laughing stock. A pair of trainers made up for the fact that you had a terrible perm and gold frosted lipstick. I didn’t have much money (my Dad was a Marxist and strictly anti-consumer culture) but I saved every penny I earned (working a Saturday job at McDonalds) to buy my first pair of Adidas.

They cost a flippin’ fortune but were magnificent.

I spent most of my walk to school staring town at my feet unable to take my eyes off their splendour. We weren’t allowed to wear them inside the school gates so I had to carry them in a rucksack. There were some tough, scary girls and I guarded that bag as if it contained Nick Kamen’s personal phone number. If I stepped on chewing gum (or God forbid something worse) I spent hours trying to scrub it off with a toothbrush.

I started going to clubs early because I looked much older than I was. Trainers continued to be a fixation as I got into hip-hop. I envied all the older girls who were able to wear a different pair each week whereas I had to recycle the same ones. But eventually I added more to my collection- this time a pair of black, Reebok high-tops. They weren’t quite right and the tongues stuck out and made my legs look dumpy. I had judged the climate wrong and no one else in my circle wore them. It was a trainer faux pas. No one danced with me for a while. I got a pair of high top British Knights and suddenly everyone was dancing with me again.

For a long time in the nineties trainers faded into the background. I got into clubbing and wore vintage platforms. I got a pair of cork wedges that were so decrepit that they dissolved into nothing when I ran for the bus. My feet were constantly in agony. It took me ages to get anywhere because I was always twisting my ankle. I never questioned what I was doing. My priority was to be as glamorous as possible. Trainers were for school kids and sports.

Then when Brit-pop arrived I discovered Adidas again and wore them everywhere. But I felt too masculine. I’d cut my hair off to look like Justine from Elastica but looked more like Ian Beale. I hadn’t got it right again. Another faux pas.

In the noughties it was all about building my career and I wore heels for work and flat shoes (usually dog-eared ballet pumps) for my commute. I swapped them before I had a meeting. The culture was quite formal. High heels gave status and confidence.

When I got pregnant, trainers had moved right into the centre of the creative, fashion vortex . Phoebe Philo, the creative director of Céline, wore a pair of white Stan Smiths with suit trousers. She looked amazing. Women of all ages and backgrounds started wearing them. I rapidly expanded my collection. As I gained more weight,  trainers became the easy, accessible way to retain a semblance of cool. Okay I look like a three-chinned zeppelin but check out my shoes!

After I had my daughter and was pretty much mental, trainers were one of the things that helped me retain some of my identity. If I was feeling sleep deprived then I’d put on my glittery Nike Blazers. If I needed to feel fresher than I felt I stuck on my Adidas Superstars. And I noticed that many of the Mums around me were doing the same. In fact now I look at a women’s feet before I even notice their clothes. I’m not judging, It’s not about the brand or the style anymore. I’m just curious. Trainers aren’t only practical and comfy when you’re walking long distances, they’re also a way of projecting a sense of chutzpah. It’s no longer like the days at school when you had to wear a style to be cool (it probably is more didactic in fashion circles but I live in Hanwell, West London so I don’t cross paths with those types).

Trainers make me feel less Mumsy. They help me walk when I feel like lying face down on the pavement. They make me feel a bit like I’ve still got it going on (even if I’ve firmly left the dance floor behind me). And when I’m a Granny I’ll still be rocking a pair.

Anyone selling some rose-gold Nike Blazers? Let me know. I’ve been looking everywhere!

(Image source: @jonathandicker)

Anniki Sommerville

I'm Super Editor here at SelfishMother.com and love reading all your fantastic posts and mulling over all the complexities of modern parenting. We have a fantastic and supportive community of writers here and I've learnt just how transformative and therapeutic writing can me. If you've had a bad day then write about it. If you've had a good day- do the same! You'll feel better just airing your thoughts and realising that no one has a master plan. I'm Mum to a daughter who's 3 and my passions are writing, reading and doing yoga (I love saying that but to be honest I'm no yogi).

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