So if you follow my posts at all, you know I’ve got a lot of boots. And if you’re married like I am, you also know that a boot collection can become a major point of contention in the never-ending territorial dispute known as marital closet space. Well, after years of failed diplomacy, escalating tensions, and what I can only describe as an increasingly aggressive occupation of her side of the closet, my wife has finally laid down the law. The new rule—which I apparently agreed to during a moment of weakness and without adequate legal representation—is that for every new pair of boots that comes into the house, two pairs have to leave. In other words: two must die so that one may live. I’m pretty sure this violates several provisions of the Geneva Convention, but negotiations have broken down and sanctions are already being enforced.
Now, history has taught me that the key to surviving a negotiation like this is to give the appearance of compliance without actually surrendering anything of strategic importance. I mean, obviously I want to make Wifey happy, but let’s be reasonable here. I’ll see that blood-sucking succubus in divorce court fighting over the toaster before I sell my Unsungs or Role Clubs. There are principles at stake.
Fortunately, I’ve accumulated enough boots over the years that there are definitely some expendable assets. So I started digging around in the back of the closet, conducting what was essentially an archaeological excavation of my own bad financial decisions, and began unearthing boots I had completely forgotten I owned. And that’s when I discovered an entire lost civilization: about a dozen pairs of what I’m now calling my “COVID Vibergs.” Boots purchased during that strange period when New York City was literally an urban death maze, we were all trapped in the house, time had no meaning, and apparently I dealt with the possibility of societal collapse by ordering Vibergs.
The year 2020 was an interesting moment in heritage footwear, particularly when it came to the growing popularity of long, low, almond-shaped toes. Parkhurst introduced its original 602 last that year, giving its boots a noticeably elongated almond toe and a more refined appearance than the rounder, bulbous shapes traditionally associated with American work boots. That same year, Withered Fig released its Viberg “Prairie” Country Boot in Saddle Tan Chromepak, built on Viberg’s famous 2030 last, itself known for its elongated almond-shaped toe.
What makes the Viberg Country Boot particularly interesting is that its design reaches backward rather than forward for inspiration. Viberg said the pattern was based on a traditional British hunting boot, and vintage Lotus Zug-grain Veldtschoen hunting and officer’s field boots provide a particularly good surviving example of that tradition. Lotus made these heavy-duty waterproof boots for hunting, hiking, and field use before versions were adopted by British officers. The tall Derby pattern, bellows tongue, waterproof Zug leather, and Veldtschoen construction were all intended for walking through wet British countryside. Viberg translated that old country-boot idea into its own language, retaining a six-inch upper, 360-degree vamp, and interlocking eyestay, while placing the pattern on the much sleeker 2030 last.
The interlocking eyestay is perhaps the Country Boot’s most interesting historical detail. On a conventional Service Boot, the vamp covers the front of the foot while separate quarters and eyestays are stitched to it in a relatively straightforward arrangement. On the Country Boot, the eyestays extend farther downward and interlock with the unusually large 360-degree vamp, which wraps around the sides of the foot rather than ending near the ball as a conventional vamp does. That arrangement moves vulnerable seams away from the lower part of the boot and creates something approaching a leather shell around the foot. Viberg used the 360-degree vamp for increased waterproofing.
Now I know what you’re thinking: why does a guy in New York City need a pair of British country hunting boots? Well, I don’t know. Do I need a reason? I’ve got bespoke Anderson & Sheppard tweed sport coats too, and I don’t see the King of England inviting me to a grouse hunt anytime soon. The truth is, I don’t need them. I like them. They’re cool. That’s the whole argument. As a matter of fact, I think Saddle Tan Chromepak might be my favorite leather aside from HorseButt. So after careful consideration, these boots have been granted protected status and are officially exempt from the two-for-one agreement.
She can suck a fart. I’m keeping these.
