I’m 45, so it’s been a long time since I even pretended to be cool. And yet, a part of me has attempted to hang on to any semblance of past coolness. I can talk hip-hop, I have a ton of sports knowledge, I … um … eh … ah.
I’m not cool. I know it, my wife knows it, my kids know it, my friends know it. Even when I’m riding high, new book out, making the media rounds—not cool.
Today, however, I took the final step into complete and total uncoolness. You see, I’ve needed new running shoes for months. Mine are old and battered and decayed on the bottom. They’re sweet—Nikes, neon green—but ready for the bin. So I had this in the back of my mind as I walked through the local Costco and came upon …
They’re Filas. They were $15. They look like something you’d see inside an assisted living facility.
I’m the man.