Duck, duck, boots

Last fall, my parents generously bought me a pair of L.L. Bean “duck hunting” boots.

Needless to say, I was not planning to go duck hunting, though with the depth of mud in the barnyard at that time, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a duck or two float past. No: I was merely trying to trek my way daily from the barnyard gate to the hayloft ladder to feed the cows. But I was doing this in boots that I’d had for nearly a decade, and they simply provided no barrier to the grit, dirt, and cold water. My parents happened to see me one morning immediately after I fed the cows and they kindly told me to go find a replacement pair, quickly.

The only problem with my new duck-hunting boots are that I never want to take them off. They’re fleece-lined and warm. They keep my feet absolutely dry. Mud slides right off their slick leather sides.

Wearing my duck-hunting boots, I feel a little bit like I do when I put on sweatpants at the end of the day, which I’m always careful to wait to do until I’m sure all encounters with anyone outside my immediate family are over. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to see me in my sweats, but when I put them on, I feel so comfortable and relaxed that it’s almost pharmaceutical.

My feet react the same way to the duck boots. Putting them on makes me wish I never had to wear anything else on my feet. And this is a problem because while they’re new and clean – for mud boots, anyway – they’re not exactly a fashion statement.

Succumbing to the desire to wear them every time I leave the house just seems too decadent….and also too lazy. I’ve never been that much of a shoe buyer anyway, but I at least try to have my feet look acceptable when I leave the house. Now, it’s just so tempting not to even bother.

My duck boots don’t merely protect me from mud, which is why now I wear them for walking in the woods as well as doing barnyard work. Their rigid rubber soles are impervious to ruts and rocks. Their leather sides hold off sharp poking branches. Their well-stitched seams keep out water and mud. And their fleece lining always, always keeps my feet warm.

I tell myself I can’t cave into the temptation of wearing them more than I already do. I don’t wear sweats out of the house, and I won’t wear the duck boots if I’m not walking in the woods or working in the barn. Some standards must apply.

But it’s awfully tempting. Nothing feels quite like sliding my foot into that cozy fleece and zipping up the front.

And I suppose if it were a really snowy day, that might be an excuse to wear them even if I was just heading to the bus stop. Or to the supermarket. Or even to a meeting at the kids' school.

But wait. Standards must apply. No sweats and no duck boots. Not this year, anyway. Maybe next year, if there’s more snow.

It’s almost a reason to hope for more snow.

What I wore

It is perhaps the only pure act of masochism that I practice on a regular basis: reading the “What I Wore” column in the New York Times Style section.

Sometimes the subject of the profile is a celebrity I’ve heard of; other times it’s a socialite whom I haven’t; but no matter what, I’m in the dark when they describe their clothing. Only occasionally am I familiar with the designer; sometimes I’m not even familiar with the piece of apparel they name. And oh, do they spend a lot of time changing clothes. An outfit for yoga. An outfit for morning coffee. An outfit for a midmorning meeting and another one for a photo shoot. Then a quick clothes-change for lunch out and another change of clothes before an afternoon meeting. Finally, the Big Three of end-of-day costuming: a cocktail party outfit; a dinner outfit; and a clubbing outfit.

I try to imagine applying this standard to my own life. If I break down what I wear in a typical day, it looks like this: Track pants (which used to belong to Tim’s friend Austin) and a Dare to Stay Off Drugs t-shirt (which used to belong to Tim) for my morning run. Add to that L.L. Bean duck boots and work gloves for when I’m in the barn feeding the cows. Pants and a pullover sweater for workday, which encompasses morning coffee, lunch, meetings and appointments that crop up in the course of the day, and picking up the kids at the bus or after their extracurricular activities. Then, if I’m really lucky and have no evening commitment, sweat pants and a hoodie before starting dinner preparations; that outfit will easily get me through to bedtime.

Yes, in some respects I’m envious of the socialites and celebrities with their lives so fabulous that the clothes merit their own column in the New York Times. There isn’t one aspect of my life interesting enough to make the pages of the New York Times, and these people show up not only for their own endeavors and activities but for the existence of their clothes! But in other respects, I wonder if they might be envious of my approach to dress once in a while. Sure, it must be wonderful to wear Jimmy Choo and Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs and Isabel Marant and Vionnet all within the course of 24 hours. But having your attire reported on in the New York Times must be a lot of pressure too. I wonder if they ever wish they were me, a self-employed writer and homemaker in small-town New England wearing sweats to make dinner.

Most likely not. They didn’t get where they are by dreaming of smaller things, after all. And I’d love to own, or even borrow – okay, even just breathe on – some of those items that hang from their closets. But I also love my purple Gap hoodie and the quiet, low-key evenings it represents to me.