I Don’t Play Dress-Up. Seriously, I Don’t.

by Derek Fletcher


As my eyes scanned the rows and rows of footwear, it began to cross my mind that the process may take some time after all. I’m usually an in-and-out shopper; my purchases are on a basis of necessity. For me, I needed shoes. Not just any pair of loafers, they needed to be a crossbreed of style and sophistication. They needed to be slick but sporty. I had to be able to run for office and run to the grocery store in these puppies. Are you catching my drift? Are you sure? Do you understand the brevity of the situation? These shoes were my life (yes, I realize how sad and pathetic my life is, but that’s for another time). So after two trips to DSW shoes, and days—yes, days—of mulling over the options, I found the perfect shoe that fit my business casual needs, plus they fit as well (woof, that joke lost half my audience).

I’m guessing you’ve heard of the bee’s knees—well, these shoes were it! I wore them to school, showed them off to my friends (they were super jealous). Came home, showed them off to my parents, they asked me when I was going to get a real job (get off my back and look at my feet, am I right?). Here at Sundog, I’ve put in plenty of walking: from film shoots, to film shoots, and…film shoots. Okay, I really only walk on film shoots.

Over the past several months I’ve been honored to be on a North Dakota Courts shoot. I’ve done some internal work for Sundog (promotional stuff for interns, anniversaries, and the company itself). I even got to tag along for some work with the Redhawks and Sanford Health. But what really got my geeky/film senses tingling (I’ll think of a better name for that someday) is when my advisor Jon allowed me to assist him on a film shoot for a manufacturing company. Finally, my dad can see how manly I am, I don’t just play dress-up and film my friends in my apartment!

Not that I have ever done that…just an example. An example of what he thinks I do.

I won’t bore you with specifics, but the day of filming for the client went swimmingly. I skipped and hopped, rushed and dashed—my trendy toe-wear was at the peak of its game. After a hard day of poppin’ pictures and pullin’ focus, Jon and I drove back to headquarters. The car ride back went smooth, minus one small detail—the aroma. We had been around cattle for a full day, and cattle tend to…you get it. Jon and I had been running around the cattle all day, not only were we sweaty, but our shoes smelled…what’s the word…gamey?

I’ve tried people—I’ve tried washing them, scrubbing them, dousing them in Febreeze. But my shoes bring the funk in an entirely different fashion now. Now I’m stuck in my little cubicle, editing all the footage I’ve been able to shoot this summer, with my stupid tennis shoes concealed under the desk.

And, like the end of all my blogs, it leaves the audience with a “what was the point” sort of vibe. Not sure how to wrap it up. That’s it. If you made it this far, you read in-full a story on how my shoes got smelly. Congratulations.

Also, I seriously don’t play dress-up. I have a feeling you may think that now, and I just want to make it abundantly clear I don’t play dress-up. If you see my dad, mention all the filming (minus the shoes) and maybe casually bring up how I don’t play dress-up. Thanks. Until next time, or signing off—you get it. I don’t play dress-up.