'Trainers have become fashionable recently. People talk about whether they’re a New Balance kind of girl or whether they’re into Nike Air Max. But I don’t wear trainers because Celine designer Phoebe Philo declared it cool; I wear trainers because I refuse to disable myself by wearing shoes. I refuse to be unable to run away as fast as possible from any given situation. Trainers give me that control. A kind of control that I’ve become obsessed with since I witnessed a sex crime aged 12.
I was born and brought up in Peckham, South East London, where I lived with my parents and sister, who is three years younger than me. One morning in 2001, we had an inset day off school so I’d taken my younger sister to the local park to play. It was whilst swinging my sister Sybil in the playground that I first noticed a man walking around the perimeter of the iron railings watching us intently. He walked all the way around the playground in a circle before coming in through a gate he’d already walked past once – something that instinctively made me feel there was something weird about him.
I remember feeling uncomfortable as I watched him walk diagonally past us and go to the corner of the playground and undid his flies
I didn’t feel scared but I remember feeling uncomfortable as I watched him walk diagonally past us and go to the corner of the playground and undo the flies of his trousers as if to do a wee. Something about his behaviour – a sense that this just should not be happening - made me take my sister off the swing and grab her by her shoulders. Then he started rubbing himself off – staring at me the entire time. I was so naïve that I didn’t really recognize he was wanking himself off but I knew enough to know that we had to get out of there, so I covered my sister’s eyes with my hand, told her we needed to go and walked quickly out of the playground and back home.
I was un-nerved but it wasn’t until the next day when we were walking to school at exactly the same time and I saw him again – staring at us in exactly the same way – that I freaked out. ‘We need to run,’ I remember saying to Sybil as we ran full-speed across the park back home.
Explaining to my mum why we arrived home shaking shows just how young we were. ‘What did he do?’ she asked when I tried to get out why I was so scared. ‘He weed and was drying his willy,’ I said, mirroring the action he’d done. Before I’d even stopped she’d started to call the police – and everything happened pretty rapidly after that.
The police arrested him in exactly the same spot in the playground where my sister and I had first seen him. I was called in to be interviewed as a witness – and six months later, had to try to identify him in a police line-up.
I remember thinking that from what I’d seen in movies there would be 14 different versions of him but just shorter, taller, fatter or skinnier than he actually was but when I walked down the line, all the men looked so different – and none looked like him.
Maybe it was because I’d blocked out what he’d looked like; perhaps he’d changed his identity or I could have been thrown off by police telling me – as they have to all witnesses – that none of the 14 men could have been him. But I walked out without being able to ID him – and, as I was the only witness, the case against him fell apart.
I remember being silent as I was driven back to school – and then bursting into tears. I felt like I’d let everyone down.
A year later they caught him, partly based on the description I’d given him. He’d been exposing himself to other kids in exactly the same way. But knowing he’d been arrested didn’t make my anxiety or fear go away. It’s stayed with me, and manifested itself in a way I can’t explain other than that I know I must always be able to get away from any situation as fast as I can. And that means wearing trainers. Running away from him was the only control I had – and it’s why today I can’t leave my house in shoes that will disable me in any way.
I didn’t notice this consequence immediately. But one day when I was shopping for black shoes that were part of my new secondary school uniform, I freaked out. Even putting them on my feet in the shop gave me a panic attack and it wasn’t until my mum compromised on a pair of black plimsolls I calmed down.
Still, I didn’t entirely link the feeling of panic with the sex attack. But as I got older, my attitude didn’t change – I couldn’t leave the house without wearing trainers. Over time, I began to realize this wasn’t just about personal style – it was my way of feeling in control.
Dressing up for my end of school ball aged 18, all my friends tried to encourage me to wear heels with my nice new dress. But I just couldn’t. I ended up confiding in some of my closest friends about what had happened and acknowledging it almost made me understand it more. But to everyone else I said I had a blister – it was easier than telling the truth.
I’m 25 now and I’ve gone to loads of parties, balls and weddings – all in trainers. I still don’t own a pair of shoes. The only time I’ve come close was whilst getting ready for a 21st birthday party, where I was persuaded by friends to wear a pair of flat shoes. I got out of my front door in them but as soon as I’d opened the gate, I had to turn back and put on my trainers.
I have persuaded myself to get some flip flops. They’re easy to run in because I could just throw them off my feet if I needed to
Last year I moved to Australia with my boyfriend – so had to ditch most of my 20+ pairs of trainers and streamline them to just six pairs. I’ve tried almost every brand but Vans are still my favourite because they’re wide around the toes and never give you blisters. I bought a pair of New Balance the other day but they have a slight heel
so make me too tall. I’m not a fan of Converse either. I went to a festival the other day in a new pair and when I was running for the bus on the way home, I got blisters all over my heels. That made me realize I’d stick to Vans: and I’d always wear them around the house before wearing them out so they’re moulded to my feet and I could run fast in them if I needed to.
Given how hot it is in Australia, sometimes the ground is literally too hot to wear trainers. So I have persuaded myself to get some flip flops. I’ve rationalized to myself that they’re easy to run in because I could just throw them off my feet if I needed to and run barefoot. But that’s the reason I could never wear sandals that were strapped on to my feet.
I’ve had the odd comment from people saying, ‘why you are you wearing trainers?’ – especially when I’m going to a formal event. ‘It’s just my thing,’ I’ll reply. But I don’t feel ashamed or sad about it. I feel happy that I’m wearing trainers. After all, if they needed to run they’d be fucked. Whereas I’d have the advantage.’
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.