“The memory of a long forgotten dance should still scuff your boots” a friend told me in Arizona.
… After 13 years in Arizona, I appreciated the cultural meaning of cowboy/cowgirl hats and boots. Walking in those boots undoubtedly signals autonomy. Leather becomes identity, self-reliance and comfort in who you are. The stacked heels affect your stride and gait, and make you taller. And the bow in your back feels smoother.
The once utilitarian heavy leather boots still protect from rattlesnakes and desert brush, but the dress boots point their toes with pride on the dance floor, or under the restaurant table.
Desert mesquite thorns tore through and the high noon sun dried the leather like an old saddle now shaped like your ride. But your ride through life got more meaning. Found identity. And you felt good.
Dress boots sound like the August wind through Juniper trees when you slide on the pine floor. They are worn, broken in but you are never broken. They have stayed from the sand, the hiding snakes, and the stubborn rocks. They are black, red, or saddle cream. And you feel good.
But there is always a last dance in the Last Chance Saloon. You are still self-reliant but the bow in your back has arched your stand and makes you look inside yourself. Your swagger tells you have carried your years by putting the weight of the passage on the heels of your boots. You still enjoy smoky saloons but somehow the old stories you hear do not make you laugh.
Yet, you still want to dance, the last dance you kept for yourself.
In private.
Photos and thoughts
The cowboy boots of a departed Sheriff are immortalised in a sculpture in front of the Court House in Prescott, Arizona. It was not his statue that was sculpted, but his boots only. Worn, high shafts wrinkled, and the Sheriff’s posture apparent.
My cowboy boots – the pair on the left is heavy leathered
and ready for the high desert or ranch work. While I walked thousands of miles
in the desert over a decade, I resisted the temptation of scuffing these boots.
Perhaps I kept them for my last dance in the desert.
The black boots, on the right, are urban and
stylish. I have used them extensively as my favorite “cultural” attire in
Arizona. Maybe I will polish them again when the “Last Chance Saloon” opens up
again, so we can laugh once more at old stories.
Cowboy boots, walking sneakers and summer high-heel
shoes at a street market in Denver, Colorado.
Shoe identity that came together for a split second when
I was walking the streets.
July 8, 2026
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2026
