There are moments in a man’s journey, when he feels like he is passing from one phase of his life, to the next.

It can be triggered by something small, but the dawning realisation of what is happening can be huge.  Which is what happened last Saturday when I found myself in town, shopping.  For slippers.

I do not consider myself old.  Thirty three is not old.  It isn’t.  Yet as I walked around my flat, barefoot, and upon cold wooden floors, I realised that I almost certainly needed slippers in my life.  It would not be the first time that I have I owned slippers though, oh no.  It is just that the last pair were children’s size seven and had Spiderman on the front.  I can not even make the excuse that “My old ones are worn out and I’m just replacing them.” as they do not make Spiderman slippers in adult size eights.

Having overcome the personal demons that chastised me for even considering the purchase of slippers, I made my way into town, where I learned something interesting about the retail trade.  You can often tell the target market for a particular item by how it is displayed in the store.  Are they adorning a trendy looking mannequin in a strident pose?  Or are they on a rack next to the cravats and walking sticks?

I am definitely not interested in cravats or walking sticks, so it was particularly bad planning on their part, a cross-selling opportunity definitely missed missed.  They should obviously have stocked some CD’s or trendy jeans next to the slippers to maximise their revenue earning potential.  That said, a year ago I did not think I would be looking to buy slippers, so perhaps the research has shown that by next year I will be a cravat wearing, cane brandishing lothario?

Anyway, my slippers are comfortable and that is all that matters.  And on the brightside, no-one will ever know about them.

shopping · slippers