The P.I.C. ordered a work-approved pair of sneaks called Saratoga Canvas. They strived to be Vans with a haughtily thick material, simplicity of design and classic-car red dye. But they had been pumped out in a factory that didn't take the time to design a shoe that felt good to active feet. That walked all day on glazed cement, mucked through ever present spillage and supported a frame that leaned over counters. Resting too high on the Achilles, they tore down the skin to gaping blisters with fleshy raw, pink exposure that took painfully long to scab over. They sought a laid-back skater appeal and labeled themselves with a wine country whimsy that didn't mesh in the least. Just a bullshit pair of cheap work shoes the company "gifted" you as if they were doing you a solid.