Every autumn, our boots emerge from their summer hibernation. Black bikers, suede knee-highs, leather cowboys. Lace, zip, or slip them on – each carries a different expectation, allowing us to inhabit distinct versions of ourselves. Over time, we develop a unique attachment to our favourite pair: a loyalty that our other shoes rarely inspire.

The first boots I loved were handed down from my grandmother. Black suede, mid-length, with a zip concealing a triangular snakeskin panel. They went everywhere with me. To lectures and clubs, with jeans and skirts. They were re-soled several times. They died as they lived: at a festival. Boomtown 2025 was their death knell. The sole detached –entirely – and the interior collapsed. I mourned their return to dust amid fluorescent butterflies and the pulsing bass of psychedelic trance. I have since acquired a pair of favourite boots 2.0. Black leather, also mid-length, heeled, rather unyielding. We are still getting to know each other. They remain a little stiff, a little unfamiliar. But by next festival season, I expect we’ll be inseparable.

“Try pairing an animal-print boot with a wool overcoat for a pared-back, sophisticated look”

From festival fields to the runway, this season emphasised the slouchy, scrunched silhouette. Ralph Lauren and Zimmermann brought a slight crumple at the ankle to the classic knee-high boot, cultivating a lived-in nonchalance. At Louis Vuitton, calf-grazing boots acquired heavy leather folds, calling a crushed Coke can to mind. Then came the maroon boot: a contained risk, neither mahogany neutral nor statement pop of colour. Paired with a contrasting top and bottom – the so-called ‘sandwich method’ – these boots set the tone for a day, an attitude. Paired with cosy knitwear, black tights and a miniskirt, such boots thrive.

We also saw a resurgence of animal-print boots. Timeless and versatile, the leopard print is something we can always get behind – or inside. But we have moved beyond the territory of our favourite spotted wildcat. From zebra to snakeskin, tiger to cow-print, these statement patterns are making themselves known. Not a maximalist? Try pairing an animal-print boot with a wool overcoat for a pared-back, sophisticated look. Or embrace your bohemian sensibilities with a fringed suede jacket and lived-in denim. However feels right to you, take to the catwalk.

“Breaking in a pair of boots – like any new relationship – requires patience”

Like many English students, I tend to prioritise fashion over comfort. And nothing pairs with leather boots quite like blisters. At Downing College, gravelled paths are designed specifically to test my pain threshold. Stiletto-heeled boots are less fashion choice than torture method. Breaking in a pair of boots – like any new relationship – requires patience. Try short walks in thick socks. Flexing by hand. Applying leather conditioner. Gently heating the tightest spots with a hairdryer. Suffering is optional; style is not. Every good outfit deserves a soundtrack. Mine – tailored to booted strutting through autumn – features Ezra Collective’s Life Goes On, Fleetwood Mac’s Dreams, and Françoise Hardy’s Tous les Garçons. Naturally, Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ has the final word.

“Whether slouchy, scrunched, polished, or scuffed, boots mark the passage of seasons, moments, and selves”

Boots, in my view, can be worn anywhere. However, when I wore mine to a formal – knee-high, dark brown, leather, heeled – a few remarks were made. Polite, lightly ironic, yet revealing. In Cambridge, dress is a language of tradition. Modest heels and polished Oxfords signal adherence, measured formality. But it is possible to engage with the unspoken rules of this institution without entirely submitting to them. Assert control over your movement through this expectation-charged space. Issue your own boot-shaped challenge to authority.

An unlikely source of fashion insight (my supervisor) recently introduced me to a leading figure in boot design. If you haven’t heard of John Fluevog, get acquainted. His boots involve curved heels, super-pointed punk flats, and thick crepe-bottoms. Despite intimidating four-inch heels, Fluevog promises these are ‘an easy eight-hours-a-day shoe’. Think 1990: Madonna in the ornate Baroque Fluevog Munster. Strap on a pair and walk straight back into the ’90s club scene.

Boots can be companions, experiments, even small rebellions. Whether slouchy, scrunched, polished, or scuffed, boots mark the passage of seasons, moments, and selves; they carry us through lectures, festivals, and halls steeped in tradition. They remind us that style is never neutral, that comfort and statement rarely exist in perfect harmony. Every step – blistered or otherwise – is a negotiation between who we are and who we want to be.