I was recently thinking about whether I own or wear anything old — like really old. You know the kind of thing: a favorite hoodie from your teens, vintage jewellery passed down from family, or a pair of boots that have seen more seasons than you can count. But honestly? When I looked through my wardrobe, I realized… I don’t think I have anything old at all.

My clothes cycle pretty regularly. Some outgrow me (not always physically), some wear out, and others just stop feeling like “me.” I tend to pass things on, donate, or refresh my wardrobe bit by bit over time. So nothing I wear really has that long, lived-in history.

Except — and here’s the twist — my insoles.

They’re not glamorous. They’re not on display. But they are the oldest thing I wear, and they’ve been through a lot with me. These insoles have quietly supported me (literally!) for years. Through long days on my feet, anxious commutes, walks that turned into wanders, and those rare-but-special moments of peace when I remember to slow down and breathe.

They’re a bit worn. They squeak sometimes. And honestly, I should probably replace them. But they’ve molded to the shape of my life in a way that no fast-fashion top or trendy pair of shoes ever could.

It made me reflect — maybe we think “old” has to mean sentimental or stylish or storied in a way that’s visible. But maybe it’s also the small, practical things. The things that show up for us daily. Quietly dependable, even when no one else notices.

So yes, the oldest thing I wear is a pair of insoles.

And they’ve earned their place.