A bootless effort (or, the shoe conundrum revisited)

For many years now, readers on this site have been listening to me complain about the troubles I have with shoe shopping. The joy many women apparently take in the hunt for that perfect pair is utterly foreign to me. I have so much difficulty finding shoes that fit both my short, wide feet and my other requirements (practical, reasonably durable, leather-free, and not completely outrageous in price) that when I find a pair that's acceptable, I tend to wear them until I can literally feel the sidewalk through them, so much do I dread the process of trying to replace them.

That's the situation I find myself in right now with regard to winter boots. Currently, I have not one but two pairs of boots, both of which leak. In the case of one of the two pairs, I can't complain about that too much; they're boys hiking boots that I picked up for a mere five bucks at our town yard sale in 2021, so even if they started to leak around the edges after just a few months of use, I can still say I got my money's worth out of them. But the other pair were Sperry boots that I paid around $100 for at Famous Footwear, and within a few months, the hollow heels had worn completely through, letting in water every time I wore them in even slightly wet weather. (I complained to the company, which offered to replace them, but they didn't have any replacement pairs available in a size and style that fit my requirements.)

I've already attempted several times to repair both these pairs of boots. I've tried filling in the leaky areas with Shoe Goo and, when that didn't work, with hot glue, but both of them quickly wore off. So I'm back on the hunt again, and growing increasingly frustrated as my quarry continues to elude me. I keep finding pairs online that almost meet all my criteria, but are missing one or more key factors. For example:

• The Nautica Anthea boot, available on Amazon, is leather-free, looks warm, and is a nice-looking style. But it doesn't come in a wide width, and anyway, I never buy anything at all from Amazon if I can help it.
• Another fleece-lined motorcycle boot, available on Poshmark, is likewise unavailable in wide. I might take a risk on it anyway, but the site offers no guarantee that I can return it if it doesn't fit.
• The Kensington Treklite Child from Native Shoes is vegan and, since it's a kids' size, would probably be wide enough for me. And at $65, it's more affordable than most adult options. But according to the "Questions" section on the website, it's not warm enough or waterproof enough to wear in snow. Also, it's a pull-on style, which I often have trouble squeezing my feet into.
• The Insulated Biker Boots from Will's Vegan Store come in a European size 37, which usually fits me, and are ethically made and certified carbon neutral. They also cost more than I've ever paid for any footwear before, but I would have paid the price willingly if I had any confidence that I'd be able to make them last several seasons. But when I wrote to the store to ask if these shoes could be resoled, their answer was basically, "Maybe." Although the soles appear to be stitched on, they're actually "mounted" (glued), which means it may or may not be possible for a cobbler to replace them. The only way to know is to take a specific pair to a specific cobbler and ask. And I'm not willing to risk $136 on them without knowing up front whether they're repairable or not.

I've considered searching for a secondhand pair of leather boots, since I'm willing to wear leather if the profits from the sale are going to a reseller and not to the manufacturer. But the sites that sell these, such as eBay, typically don't allow returns. And when you've got feet as peculiar as mine, buying a pair of shoes without a guarantee you can return them if they don't fit is a losing proposition.

So why am I sharing this sad story with all of you? Well, I guess it's to illustrate the point that making ecofrugal choices isn't always easy. If I didn't care about the financial or economic costs of my decisions, I could surely have managed to find an acceptable pair of boots by now—maybe several pairs. They might be made from leather, or so flimsy that they'd wear out within a few months, but hey, no biggie: I'd just throw them out and blithely buy another. But because I do care, I'm holding out for something that's worth its cost to me and to the planet—which is why I'm putting up with wet feet in the meantime.

On this blog, I tend to focus mostly on my ecofrugal successes, like growing raspberries and shopping on Craigslist and building stuff with scrap materials. Those stories are fun and useful, but they may paint an unrealistically rosy picture of the ecofrugal life, giving the impression that it has no real drawbacks. So by throwing in this story of a minor and (hopefully) temporary failure, I hope to give you a more balanced picture. I want it to be clear that yes, ecofrugality does have its downsides—but in my opinion, they're definitely outweighed by the benefits.