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It’s six thirty. I’m running late.

The rain is picking up, the leaves swirl at my feet. I pull my coat tighter around my shoulders and press on towards home.

But something catches my eye.

My stride falters, I stop. In the shop window – sneakers. So many sneakers. Hundreds of Nikes all lined up, each one chasing the next across the display. They’re beautifully arranged. Each swoosh in perfect rank and file – that Nike tick validating my adoration. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I glance down at my own pair. Tick. My eyes slide slowly to the person next to me. Tick. Then to the woman beyond her. Tick. That guy by the curb? Tick.

And it dawns on me. I feel queasy. In that moment, I’m trapped. All those sneakers – my sneakers, his sneakers, her sneakers. We all have the same Nike sneakers. All ticking together, a time-bomb waiting to explode.

Will I still be wearing Nikes in a year? In five? In ten? The window replies – Tick. Tick. Tick.

Enough. I make a choice.

I take a last glance at the store and turn away. I’m done marching to the Nike beat.

Head up, eyes ahead, I walk on. I stamp my frustration into the sidewalk. My feet dance to my own rhythm.

Later, at home, I take off my Nikes.

— Kate Wilson

[cherry_banner image=”4586″ title=”Adbusters #123″ url=”″]Manifesto for World Revolution Pt. VI[/cherry_banner]