Here I was, working on a critically unknown series of casual shoe reviews, and my Great Quasi-Benevolent Corporate Overlord went and switched bosses on me, replacing one who managed from afar with one who actually saw what we wore every day. Thus, no more jeans, no more sneakers, and no more sneaker reviews. I may have to switch to reviewing -- shudder -- "business casual" footwear.
I do have one last pair of sneaks going through their paces as we speak. Don't want to reveal them yet, but I bottom-fed them for all of ten bucks on clearance, and they bear the brand of a famous redhead whose last initial is W and who is known for participating in "extreme" sports.
That's right, you guessed it:
Now THAT is some mad air.
Okay, busted. It's actually this guy:
I hear he casts a gnarly Patronus.
At first glance, they tick all the boxes:
- Grippy sole
- Not ugly
It is mildly humiliating to wear a constant reminder of just how old I am (duuuuuude!) but since they don't shout their skatepark origins (the only external branding is a little W on the heels), I think I'm OK. At least it's not the cruel irony of another halfpipe legend turned clothing brand -- i.e., if you are Tony Hawk's age, you're too old to wear Tony Hawk's clothes.
So, assuming I can shake this pesky grownup dress code and reopen the daily on-bike torture lab, I'll have one last review in my series before I declare the winner and new world champion. You may now start waiting with baited breath.