Don't knock these boots

They say that if you're old enough to remember a trend from the first time it was popular, you're too old to wear it the second time around.

I don't know who "they" are, but I've found at least one exception to this rule.

My freshman year of college, I was friends with this girl who, hands down, had the coolest clothes. Hidden behind the heavy wood doors of her dormitory closet, she stacked various washes of vintage jeans, countless cropped T-shirts from Contempo, and shoes that made serious statements. I envied her style and borrowed what I could, but there was one item I loved so much, I had to make them my own: her motorcycle boots.

That either of us would be into motorcycle boots was bizarre. We were both nice Jewish girls from the suburbs who had never even been on a bike, let alone required the footwear to ride one. But there was something so sexy and bad-ass about these boots, all scuffed and steel-toed, that added a bit of bravado into otherwise unassuming steps.

Around Thanksgiving, we went to purchase my first pair. Rather than go to the city's large Carousel Mall which held all the chain stores, we headed to the second-tier shopping center that was home to the low-rent, independent retailers. There, we found the biker store on the ground floor, and for $50, I purchased my prized possession. I can't be sure, but I imagine I wore them out of the store, and returned to campus legally drunk off a cocktail of sass and swagger.

I wore these boots throughout my freshman and sophomore years, but slowly started filtering them out as the styles changed. When I was short on closet space in New York, I asked my mom to hold onto them for a while. I wasn't wearing them at all, then, but had a feeling they might one day make a comeback.

That day, according to the LA Times, is today.

For once actually ahead of a trend, I started rotating them back into my wardrobe about a year ago. At first, I secretly worried that I might be too old to be rocking the boots, but - no joke - Every. Single. Time. I wore them, I'd get a compliment.

"Love your boots!" "Where did you get those?" "Are those Frye?"

I was relieved to pull off the look, of course, and took some weird pride in the fact my boots weren't Frye. It sounded much cooler to tell people that I had gotten them nearly 15 years earlier, at a little motorcycle shop in Syracuse. The age officially qualified the find as "vintage," while the biker shop implied the real deal.

A year later, people are still coming up to me nearly every time I wear them. I love it, of course, but it baffles me a bit. If motorcycle boots are that popular - you can find them in every department store - why are mine getting so much attention? I have to wonder if the hard worn scuffs and scratches hint at the boots' authenticity, or if some other difference subtly suggests their fifteen years of history.