When your car breaks, you don’t just buy a new car, you fix it. Same goes for toilets, sprinkler systems and refrigerators.
While a fan of this reuse philosophy, I don’t usually apply it on a smaller scale. When my cell phone breaks, I get a new one; knock over a lamp, I replace it; break a chair, I look for another on Landfair. The idea of repairing seems like an unnecessary hassle. Even the idea of a repairman seems old-fashioned. We’re a consumer culture ““ we consume and we move on.
As a college student, the disposability of my possessions is actually convenient. When you’re moving every couple of years, it doesn’t make sense to have a lot of nice, big things. However, this makes the few nice things I have more valuable (even if they aren’t really). So when something I love breaks, it’s harder to just let it go.
The key distinction between items you fix and items you dispose of, besides price, seems to be sentimental value. I don’t have an attachment to my phone, but I would fix the clasp on a piece of my grandma’s costume jewelry.
The question of “should it stay or should it go” arises often with clothing and accessories, and the decision to keep or toss often comes from knowing if fixing is even possible. For example, I will sew on a button (or, to be honest, I’d have my mom sew it on over break) rather than toss a blouse, but if I get a tear in the sleeve, I’ll probably chuck it.
The line of keep or toss blurs especially at shoes. On one hand, a worn-down shoe means you can buy another, but on the other hand, it means giving up a favorite pair. When one of my favorite pairs recently wore through the protective rubber on the heel and the wood veneer to show the inner white structure, my first thought was that I’d have to get new ones. Yet to my surprise, I wasn’t excited by that thought. I replace my Rainbows when the heel runs through, so why should a pair of Sofft heels be any different? In the scheme of shoes they aren’t even that pricey.
But I felt I had to do something. I couldn’t keep wearing them without risking ruining the whole heel.
I’d heard of cobblers, I’d seen shoe shiners in airports. I knew there was a shoe care business; it just seemed so stodgy, so men’s business shoes. And who knew what sort of work they could do and how much it would cost? Would they fix a pair decorated with a big flower?
So I awkwardly walked into Campus Shoe Repair in Westwood Village, put my shoes on the counter and asked if there was anything at all they could do. The clerk looked at them for three seconds and told me it would be $12. All they needed were new rubber bottoms. And if I wanted, they could shine them, and could even replace the worn leather on the inside.
It was a revelation. And now, knowing that I can care for my possessions makes me more inclined to buy nice stuff. I went unashamed to a warehouse sale on Saturday to add to my collection. It’s unpleasant to feel like everything you own is worthless. And if I don’t buy new shoes that often, but take care of the ones I have, then aren’t I entitled to spend more on each pair?
I picked up the fixed shoes Monday, and they looked like a new pair, except already worn in and comfortable. They were like new, but not. They were repaired, not replaced.
If you think it’s better to just get attached to accessories, e-mail Crocker at acrocker@media.ucla.edu.