Living in Manhattan I do a lot of walking. A lot of frustrating walking. Each sidewalk block becomes a small football field, the street ahead a glorious goal line. It's all about finding holes. Like a running back surging out of the backfield I take to the streets with intent, weaving amongst the masses with my eyes peering ahead for the optimal route. My walking agility has become a source of pride and accomplishment for me since residing in such a crowded city. I have a destination in mind and a lot of pokey foes standing in my way. There are the gazing tourists of Soho, the chunky strollers of the Upper East Side and the hand-holding couples of the East Village and Brooklyn. Old, young, rich, poor, man, woman, they are all the same - SLOW - and, like a burly linebacker, seemingly uncommitted and hell bent on keeping me from my intended location.
Of all of the offenders though, the worst are not confined to a specific neighborhood, but rather are a ubiquitous problem. The entranced Blackberry/iPhone/cell user is the equivalent of a 10 speed Huffy in the fast lane on I-95. They meander aimlessly like drunken puppies who would easily fail a sobriety test. So intent are they on the earth shattering message they received that walking a straight line is near impossible. They can bring movement to a halt and increase my blood pressure with every blatantly oblivious stroke of their tiny touchpad. Unfortunately, this is the arrogance one develops living in NY - you become the center of your own world and societal flow and awareness are no longer concerns to be bothered with.
Excuse me. (thud) Ok, now that I am off my soapbox I can get to the point - taps. Unlike the athlete I am comparing myself to, my footwear has no cleated bottom or turf tread to hug the surface beneath my feet. Most of my clod hoppers are fashioned in full or partly from a leather sole. As a preventative measure to the torture I inflict upon my equipment, each new brogue or loafer that comes into my possession is outfitted with a set of taps. They are a simple, cheap and effective way of preserving shoes by protecting the highly exposed areas of the sole: the tips and heels. I also find their services useful in gripping certain surfaces, especially when breaking in a fresh pair of shoes.
Taps usually come in two varieties, metal and plastic. Unless you want to sound like Mr. Bojangles shuffling about I suggest the plastic. Most cobblers can affix them as you wait with the muffled stroke of their rubber mallet. And at a cost of $5 or $6 per pair, there really is no reason not to indulge. Taps can be worth the extra shekels simply for the added traction to maneuver around my dawdling pedestrian peers, and thereby forgoing the urge to resort to minor assaults just to get from point A to point B!
As with most additions to a man's arsenal, taps are yet another understated detail that goes unnoticed but adds a bit of confidence to your stride. While they don't add any outward aesthetic, I feel somewhat more Astaire-ian with them affixed to my shoes. They certainly add an unheard sophistication in my mind that helps to battle the constant "flip flopping" noise that I so readily hear from a certain travesty of footwear that shall remain nameless.
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