I’ve developed a strange desire for a pair of 1970s Famolare shoes with wavy, rubber soles.
I never had a pair in the ’70s — or even wanted them at that age — but I remember tagging along with my mother while she shopped for shoes. I remember the smell of the rubber Famolare soles. Perhaps that smell is the equivalent of Proust’s madeleine for me. One sniff, and I’ll be carried away by memory.
As it is, I’m pretty sure I got a Famolare sticker with the bicycle logo when Mom made a purchase.
If I were a size 9, I’d get this orthopedic-looking pair.
The waves in the sole are supposed to make the shoes extra-comfortable.
The company still makes shoes, but I only want a vintage pair. A new pair wouldn’t have the same nostalgic effect on me. It would be like eating an Oreo instead of a madeleine.