My father wears Timberlands; in fact “Timberland” has become his generic term for the word “shoe”. Naturally, the notion that the big T could persuade him into ownership of merely one pair of shoes was enough to put me off the brand for life. That and the impression that one might enjoy more aesthetic fulfilment sporting the boxes they arrived in. Shoes made for walking? One may as well say that bags are for carrying stuff around.
However, this month finds me actually having to leave my flat, engage in bona fide outdoor pursuits even, and thus I found myself in the charge of Tim Greaves, Timberland’s Outdoor Performance expert. For the first ten minutes I was all surliness in the manner of a teenager being kitted out with school uniform, while Tim spouted on about vegetable dyes and sustainable organic cottons. But, gradually, I found my resistance thawing like the hoar on a steel-capped toe.
Ethos tends to mean little more than obligatory corporate pill-sugaring, but these “craftspeople with a conscience” have real, live ethos in spades. Every employee commits to at least 40 hours’ paid community service a year, ranging from shifting litter from around its stores to clearing up after the tsunami. “Don’t you sometimes want to say, ‘Beat it, treehuggers’?” I asked, eying a “Save Darfur” boot. “Er, no, that’s kind of why most of us were drawn to the company,” replied Tim. Timberland doesn’t make a big cheesmo song and dance regarding its philanthropy. Indeed, the information has to be rather wormed out of these plaid-shirted do-gooders. But the company is justifiably proud about the way it treats its staff.
All of this would be as nothing were Timberland’s garb not looking curiously desirable. I am now the proud owner of my first ever anorak, a pair of almost deviantly appealing boots, and a green tweed hiking suit (fitted, very Roland). My critique of the accompanying jersey for its sweater-girl embonpoint was met by advice in sourcing a less slutty bra. The upcoming spring collection is fabulously Katharine Hepburn.
Happily, one can wear Timberland without having to engage in the elaborate semiotics of sportswear. Nevertheless, streetwise types inform me that Missy Elliott wears top-to-toe Timberland, while low-rent pretenders don Rockport. This hierarchy is reflected in the military where officers come clad in Timberland, squaddies in CATS. But let’s not get too macho about things. According to Tim, “For some, endurance wear will be about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, for others, clambering on to a bar stool.” As no less an authority than the rap unit the Wu-Tang Clan has noted: “Ruf like Timberland wear, yeah,” in what one must only take to be an approving context.
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coolhunter@thetimes.co.uk
Tina Gaudoin is away