Dear investment shoes,
If my laptop were ever to combust, I would ask the tech-lords that it happen while I was on holiday. Why? Travel Insurance.
I’m not yet adult enough of a person to have insurance in any form (my car is still technically insured under my father, and I a mere “alternate driver”). Lady luck must be on my side, because as of yet, nothing exceptionally bad has happened to me or my belongings (knock knock, wood you there?) This was until I realised my Acne Star Leather boots were no where to be found.
“WHERE THE FUCK DID I LEAVE THEM?!”
I contemplated calling in sick for work. This was an emergency.
I turned my room inside out one more time, then decided I better run for the bus, because if I was going to be spending another $600 on a pair of shoes, I can’t really skip a full workday’s pay.
I tried to garner sympathy from anyone who would listen. I texted my friends in distress. I Facebook messaged anyone who I thought would care. Jess responded with a modern day articulation of disbelief at my situation, “:O.” :O indeed! WHERE THE FUCK WERE MY BOOTS?!
See, unlike an iPhone, laptop, or even a car, investment shoes share a special bond with their investors. My Acne boots were definitely not the most expensive item in my repertoire, but I simply could not download my memories with them off of iCloud, nor could I just use my loss as an excuse to upgrade to the latest version (Acne 2.0). I had dreamed of being 10 years down the line, and replying nonchalantly to a passerby that “oh, these boots? I’ve had them since I was in my 20’s!” But with the loss of my investment, all my boot-dreams had shattered around me.
Jess sympathized, “I hope the shoe gods locate them for you!”
“I wish I had shoe insurance!” I exclaimed via Facebook Chat.
Not a bad idea. We insure our cars and our pets, against fire and rain, and yet some of our most valued investments are left bundled in with “house and contents.” I definitely do not consider my shoes on even par with all my other “contents.” Is it even plausible to convince someone wearing a headset on the other end of a telephone line when disaster struck, that yes, I do need to be reimbursed $750 for my Leather Opening Ceremony Wedge Sandals, and NO you can’t just replace them because they’re from S/S 12!
I don’t think they’d get it.
I drafted up my resignation letter in my head as I thought about who I could approach about investing in my new insurance company. I’d heard insurance companies made a killing while I was at business school, and I am definitely all for entrepreneurship (especially after reading Lean In). Before I could put fingers to keyboard and write up my business plan, my dad texted me a picture of my boots. I had left them in Auckland the last time I was there. Relief followed by separation-anxiety ushered away my plans of starting my own company.
I learned in business school that ultimately you cannot control the outcome of stocks and investments. Instead, you can only make rationalised judgments on what you think will happen. Sometimes you lose, sometimes you win. I consider the loss and recovery of my Acne boots a plummet in the emotional-shares I invested into said boots. You never really know which pair of shoes you’ll lose or maybe damage in a thunderstorm, but there will always be another win, another pair of strappy heels or platform sneakers to invest in just around the corner.