Inanimatefan1 - Inanimate TF

A Secondhand Life

How does one measure the life of a shoe?

Does the fading size stamp on its insole convey everything a person needs to know? Or is there more to an object than the abuse it faces on careless male feet?

Shoes could be as well traveled as the individual they're tethered to, traversing many beautiful and awe-inspiring places. The dirt collected in its worn out treads, along with the bits left from those same treads, speak volumes to their existence.

But does a person really value a pair of secondhand shoes for such travels?

Wear confirms what kind of life the footwear lived. Material that slowly dwindles with age and rough foot steps. The ever growing creases from the commanding foot secured inside. The signs of ownership are very clear.

Yet, being such a canvas for use also deters people, seeing the shoes as nothing more than worn junk.

Maybe it's the style that really conveys how important a pair of shoes are. Cheap designs do not yield the kind of responses a sneakerhead is looking for. But something that catches the eye, that could lend itself to an object's value.

Though, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And no matter how nice something may look, a pair of shoes sitting in a secondhand store are nothing more than unwanted footwear.

The insoles act as an official historical register, noting how much use and abuse the footwear faced during its service. Each indent tells a story. Every tear in the fabric captures the kind of movement it witnessed beneath the owner's soles.

But as unique as the insoles are, again, it just represents use. Nothing more. Always less.

Beyond the obvious, does much more lurk below the surface? Could the life these shoes lived hold even more than simply the feet that once possessed them? As objects, these vessels face the consistent rejection of customers, unable to see past their clear traits. But within the confines of the leather and fabric, does a silent voice scream to be recognized and embraced?

To these shoes, this secondhand store represents another chance at life. Their old owners deemed them worthy of another adventure and disregarded the very common choice of trashing them. And even though they were reconditioned in an attempt to remove the signs of their past experiences, on the outside, they are simply used footwear.

It's a difficult thing to overcome. Even harder for customers who view shoes the lowest part and priority over other clothing on the shelves. Once vibrant individuals turned pathetic vessels to care for masculine man feet, they are left to plead with any passerby and hope for a new chapter to open.

Because, if they fail at this gracious opportunity, destruction is what awaits...

Another post on my musings about footwear. These photos come from a secondhand store I was browsing a few months ago. It's hard to say what happened to this footwear since.

apparently someone in Edinburgh has been updating the street signs for pride

This is what he looks like now. He shouldn’t have agreed to the terms and conditions if this isn’t what he wanted. We put him in the singlet and watched him empty out. We watched him watch himself hollow out, flatten out, effortlessly and painfully, and flopping to the ground as a limp and lifeless singlet, body absorbed into the spandex itself. He isn’t truly lifeless, though. He’s fully sentient with all 5 of his senses, but he can’t move. He’s nothing unless a wrestler is wearing him. That’s his purpose now, as a wrestling singlet after all. Only he’s not getting worn. He’s flat, pressed into this frame, put in display. He loves the denial of it. It’s almost like, without being put on, stretched across the rippling, sweating muscles of a hot jock, he’s being edged with no chance to cum. Patiently he waits, now, to be let out of the frame and slipped into by an atheñetic body. Only the moment may never come— he’s trapped, suspended and in display in this frame, forever.