How much would you pay for trainers?
How much is it acceptable to spend on a rubbery, synthetic shoe? Opinions run the gamut in the Armstrong household: £50 top is my husband’s view – except when he’s buying a technical hiking trainer, in which case, don’t ask.
My daughters weren’t much help either. You can’t rely on millennials to endorse your profligacy, I’m afraid. “It is really lame to spend a lot of money on a trainer,” said my elder. “It looks so try-hard.”
Well, that’s me. And the older I get, the harder I try. Which is why there’s a pair of burgundy velvet Mcqueen trainers sitting in my basket not just on net-a-porter.com but also on matchesfashion.com (in case there’s a rush on burgundy velvet Mcqueen trainers).
Ooh but they’re lovely. Did I mention the burgundy velvet aspect? And the two-inch white flatform? Height and comfort, as all short people know, is cheap at twice the price.
Needless to say, the Daily Telegraph fashion team fully embraced every last nuance of “my” Mcqueens, even when I showed them similar, far cheaper pairs. “Behold the construction,” they cooed, “the cutaway sides, that make your legs look longer” (can’t put a crude price tag on elongation). “Admire the snakeskin trim.” “You shouldn’t settle for second best just because they’re trainers. In fact all the more reason to invest.” And finally, the clincher,
“think what you’d spend on a pair of Manolos”.
Then there’s the unspoken detail: the fact they say Mcqueen on them. This is where it gets complicated. In theory, all savvy style hunters scorn obvious branding, except where it’s ironically vulgar. But the general societal embrace of the ultra casual means that branding is sometimes all that separates us, the stylish, from JD Sports.
Take, for example, the white leather and suede Dior trainer that some of my colleagues wore all through fashion month, at breakfast, lunch and in some cases, smart dinners. It’s a perfectly nice white trainer, but is it £620 worth of niceness? That depends how much value you place on the Dior bee embroidered next to the magical initials CD.
The real brilliance of the Dior trainer is that it makes my Mcqueens look frugal. The £3,000 stringed bag from Vetements makes them seem positively Primark. Yet still something holds me back. I know perfectly well – because designers
keep telling me – that “modern luxury” has moved on from the days of sumptuary laws: sack cloth and ashes can cost a fortune when they’re from Prada, and spun from the facial hair of the last remaining herd of pygmy unicorns. In theory, there’s no reason why denim, plastic or a brown paper bag shouldn’t cost a fortune if they’ve been intensely crafted. Come to think of it, I was sent a waterproofed brown paper tote-bag that’s been treated to be as strong as leather, as light as, well, paper – and it’s amazing.
So I’ve been going through all the usual mental contortions to justify the trainers – the cost per wear, the modernity they’ll inject into everything from midi dresses to crop kick flares, the value of a shoe you can walk to work in and remain in.
I noted with satisfaction that Claire Trehearne, a director at UBS, who featured in our workwear special on Wednesday, spoke gleefully of the way dress codes in even her office had relaxed and how she now wears smart trainers to work.
So the Mcqueens are still in my basket(s) and, depending on my mood, they can look like a bargain or the apex of silliness. Yes, they’re cheaper than a pair of Prada sandals, but they’re also pricier than a pair of well-crafted Grenson brogues. Perhaps I should leave them there as a contemplative lesson in life values.