Clarks Desert Boots

If you're not wearing a Clarks, then you're not saying nothing. Dennis Alcapone

I've worn Clarks Desert Boots all of my adult life. This design classic dates back to 1949 when Nathan Clark visited the Old Bazaar in Cairo. “I got the idea from crepe-soled rough suede boots which officers in the Eighth Army were in the habit of getting made in the Bazaar” said Clark. It's a bit of a myth that the Armed Forces used them in action. Today Clarks are quick to point out that they were an "off-duty" shoe, stating "the simple lines and conspicuous comfort were an instant hit and the first ever casual shoe was born."

Clarks shoes have long been a staple with trendsetters in Jamaica. In fact their popularity there is hard to overestimate.  Since the birth of the rude boy in the 60s, through the classic roots reggae years, right up to the current Dancehall trends, Clarks has remained the label of choice. If you'd like to read more about it check out Al Fingers excellent book 'Clarks In Jamaica'. 
 

Closer to home the Desert Boot has long been a staple within the Mod subculture. It's the footwear of choice in Quadrophenia, and by extension can often be seen on the feet of mod-revivalists like Paul Weller and the Gallagher brothers. In the mid-nineties during the height of the Britpop scene, the Desert Boot threatened to become the footwear of choice for the young and stylish in the UK, but (perhaps thankfully) Clarks were unable or unwilling to fully exploit this. And to some extent that remains the case today. I recently visited Hong Kong and could hardly move for seeing Clarks Originals stores. Yet there isn't a single one in the UK. Surely there's a call for opening one around Carnaby Street or in the East End?

Ultimately though, who cares? I'm happy to step inside the regular Clarks store, past all the school kids reluctantly getting their feet measured, and all the nice old couples shopping for comfy shoes. Clarks does it for me. One word of warning though, don't wear them in the wet or you will slip. The amount of times I've nearly broken my neck in crepe-soled shoes I don't care to count.