The first time you wear a new pair of nice shoes, you’re almost afraid to let anyone near them. For probably the only time in those shoes’ history, they will be pristine.
The original laces will have zero gunk embedded into the fabric, dirt that is impossible to get out without simply burning them. The tongues won’t have any creases in them. The insoles will smell like insoles instead of your sweaty, disgusting soles. The color of the shoes is white; not because you washed them with your sister’s toothbrush, not because you put them in the dishwasher with leftover spaghetti containers, not because you meticulously put whiteout on every little spot of deep space on your kicks.