If you were anywhere in the U.S. of A this past week, and tuned into anything outside of your favorite porno site, you may have heard about the colossal blizzard that tombstoned the east coast last weekend. I had been hearing about it all week, and pretty much disregarded it up until the night before. In faux preparation, I went out and got water, the pot smoker’s starter kit, and mentally prepared myself for a weekend of laying around stoned, watching tv. Saturday came, and as anticipated, I didn’t make it out of by until after 1:00pm. I hit the restroom to freshen up and indulged in some doobie love. After said love making, I was understandably hungry as shit, and had nothing within arms reach worth eating. I peaked out of my blinds for the first time that day to see the snow coming down like Lebron on a fast break. I grinned because I knew this was the moment of truth. It was time for me to put my Kanye West x Adidas 950 Boosts to the test. I had worn the boot a few times prior, on colder days, and received snarky comments from those lower on the style totem pole. Of course, I got the corny moon boot reference, and even a comparison to other Yeezy models, as if I had received the short end of the stick with the 950. You had to know someone asked me if I was about to go out into a blizzard, and at the time, the answer was no, but, guess what motherfucker, this time, I WAS going out into a blizzard, and I was going out into it in style.

Geared up in a hella layers, I ventured out into the unknown that was this blizzard, in hopes of finding food, 950 boots strapped tight, with my laces wrapped around the top one time on my army/navy shit. Making my way downstairs, I found the snow to be higher than both method man and redman. I was practically doing a high knee drill, marching about looking for someone as serious about their cash as to be serving in such conditions. While heading back to my quarters, I decided that the Yeezy’s hadn’t shown me enough, and that we were going to find out what they could really do. I saw a post where folks were lined up at Kith in the blizzard to get the new Ronnie’s, so I said fuck it. If a bunch of sneaker fiends can stand outside clucking for their Fieg’s, I can march my ass down there and join them.

Of course, by the time I got to Soho everything was closed, and everyone had gone home. I ended up spending the rest of the evening marching about in the snow like a German soldier, as the 950 shielded me from elements. I felt real sense of pride running around in those boots, like I was wearing a magnum that was too small. In coming home and stripping down to the essentials (cozy boy), I was happy to find that my feet had been kept warm with the protection of the duck boot toe box, leaving me with dry socks. I must’ve cried tears of joy; I couldn’t believe it. I had been blessed by the sartorial messiah to have had made a purchase in the name of fashion that had a real function to it on the back-end. I was grateful, as I had bought the boots solely to stomp on the hearts and souls of the competition, but received so much more, despite my malicious intent. That night, I laid in bed, looked over at the puddle of water developing around my now drying boots, and knew that the real test would come in the morning.

As I made my way to my offices, I watched the people of the city make their way to their respective destinations. It was like eating dinner with your gorgeous girlfriend, while the guy at the next table swapped spit with Big Ang. So many people were #outhere, and not in a good way. Unfortunate guys and gals were rushing passed newly formed puddles like a tire drill at training camp in leather sneakers and oxford lace ups, while I seemed to glide through even the nastiest of slush. Those that did have boots seemed to have settled on those that weren’t as aesthetically pleasing. It made me think, “Did they really settle, or were most snow shoes all function/no fashion?” I was on to something, as I couldn’t think of a single snow boot that I would want to wear; want being the key word. I couldn’t help but pat myself on the back for choosing the “pirate black” colorway as well. Not to bang against the other members of the 950 Gang, but I had decided on an option that wouldn’t show its bruises like the Peyote, or Moonrock colorways. I was invincible. I was the president, and the 950 were my secret service.

By day three, the snow had melted more, and the streets had dried some, but I wasn’t taking any chances, and opted to wear the boots once more. Even after two days of running around in dirty snow, they needed only a slight wipe down with a wet rag (no Jason Markk), and we were out. All in all, I was impressed. This may have been the first time in my career of balling out, that I had actually gotten more than my money’s worth on a purchase. Not to glorify the resale market, but I bet you wouldn’t find yourself stomping in your air force ones, whilst retaining the ability to off them for what you paid. The Yeezy 950 on the other hand, had made it through one of the more crucial blizzards as of late with little to no blemishes I’d be forced to mention in an eBay description. Although the 950 caught a lot of shit from those preferring the 350 and 750 models, I think many will regret passing up on the boot the next time the weather turns to shit. They’ll be forced to throw on their uncle’s old knee high duck boots, as I literally float by them in the grail snow shoe. The god’s over at four pins would have been proud, rip.

#blessup

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