I'm not a sneaker person. It's an aesthetic issue. For years I wore almost nothing but New Balance running shoes—not that I ran, unless I was being chased or was trying to get a taxi, but I was a serious walker, happy to stroll from midtown to Noho if I had the time, and, being a Pisces, I'm very concerned with foot comfort. I wore these shoes with everything, including suits.

But as the years passed the sneaker category became generally uglier and more grotesque, a situation not helped by the basketball-shoe craze with its suspension systems, hydraulics, and science-fiction design sense. The nadir of the shoe, for me, was the Jerry Seinfeld-epitomized adoption of the ugly sneaker as diurnal footwear.

I rebelled, and it's only in recent years that I've worn sneaks. I have a pair of plain white canvas Jack Purcells and a few pairs of Vans, which I love because they're comfortable and they're the price sneakers should be, as opposed to the NBA-hyped monstrosities that think they're John Lobbs. My favorite Vans are actually made with a fabric designed by George Nelson in the fifties.

But then last week I saw another pair of gym shoes I had to have at Nom de Guerre, the wonderful underground (literally) men's fashion boutique at Bleecker and Broadway. They are smart navy Jack Purcells with white polka dots. They also have red eyelets on the top, which seems to mean that some of the profits are being donated to some worthy cause. Fine. But they are handsome, inside and out, and to me the Jack Purcell is a shoe that is eternal. It's like a Barcelona table or an Eames chair. And that flat tacky sole gives you traction.

I love the fact that the real Jack Purcell (1903-1991) was a world champion badminton player. He retired undefeated in 1945 at the age of 42. I love badminton and can't wait to play in these shoes. It's spring, and I've got a spring in my step.