Meat Boots – Sweden

I’ve got bored of Nike Airs. That steroidal tread, over muscled chassis, built up like an orthopaedic wedge. Yes, they’re adequately cushioned, durable, ergonomically supportive, able to propel me down the street 4% quicker than actually required, or jump several inches higher in a game that I never play. But the design, the ubiquity, the middle-of-the-roadness….what I need is something different, what I need is a pair of meat boots.

Putting them on is a strange sensation. Close your eyes and you could be climbing inside a large sedated animal. But once in, they’re surprising supportive. I played a few games of tennis in them; the propulsion and grip were impressive, plus the reaction in the members club eliminated the need for small talk post match. Ostracised like a roaming genital wart, I drank in solitude, simply admiring my meat boots.

Much like her music, most people didn’t take Lady Gaga’s meat clothing very seriously. But a small clique in Stockholm have seemingly bypassed the blatant publicity stunt and commandeered the boots.

In fairness, Sweden’s climate is more well-suited than the stinking Californian sun, where Franc Fernandez’s original creations were born. The clock is always ticking with a meat boot, decomposition only ever a few degrees away. The conversion from mega fashion to foul smelling rancid foot bags is unforgiving. The Swedish sub-zero winter temperatures make for a more durable meat boot – more bang for your buck.

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