I don't know about you guys, but I had to wear a uniform in high school. It was actually more of a somewhat strict dress code since we could wear kind of whatever we wanted as long as it was trousers, collared shirts and dress shoes. Somehow we engendered a debate about what exactly the school administration meant by "dress shoes" and basically it boiled down to anything that wasn't a sneaker or a boot, so we all figured out that we could wear Birkenstocks if we paired them with our J.Crew Giant chinos because the enormous cuff would hide the fact that the Birks don't have a heel. Anyways, I would've lost my shit back then if I could've gotten my hands on a pair of coke Birkenstock Bostons. In an alternate reality where I get coke Birks in high school, I would've been king of the rich kids and they would've introduced me to their really rich relatives who would've invested in, like, a painting or landscaping business because that's what the sons of really wealthy families do in high school and college and then someone writes an article about how this rich kid used his dad's bootstraps to hoist himself up into owning a successful landscaping company at 19-years-old. Then, I'd put that on my resume and get a cushy associate director job and—BOOM—I'm investing in my own spoiled kid's painting and moving company just like that.