Boots, Freud, and Cigars: A Session You Didn’t Know You Needed

Ever wondered what your boots are whispering about your mental state?

If Freud had laced up a pair of handwelted workboots instead of sliding into slippers, psychology might look a little different today. We’d probably be analyzing welt stitching patterns instead of inkblots.

Boots and the Architecture of the Mind

Think of a pair of handwelted boots as the psyche in leather form.

• The welt is your ego: holding everything together, keeping chaos at bay.
• The uppers? That’s your carefully curated persona: strong, polished, and presentable to the outside world.
• And the stitching, whether Goodyear or stitchdown, is your coping mechanism. Tight, clean stitches? You’ve got your life in order. Loose, uneven ones? Let’s just say, things might be unraveling.

Even the laces are a metaphor. Lace them too tight and you’re repressing more than just circulation. Too loose and, well, we all know what happens when boots don’t stay put.

Lighting a Cigar: The Controlled Release

Now, about that cigar. Freud actually was obsessed with them, but let’s be honest… he never framed it like this: lighting a cigar is essentially a ritualized exhale for the soul. It’s the one moment where a man willingly watches something burn down, and instead of panicking, he feels calmer.

And if you’re not familiar with the Rorschach test (those famous inkblot cards therapists use), imagine this: if a half-lit cigar looks like “existential despair” to you, you probably need new matches. If it looks like “contentment,” congratulations, you’ve just passed your own cigar-based personality test.

The Sacred Union: Boots + Cigars + Mind

When a man pulls on his handmade workboots and lights a cigar, he’s not just getting dressed. He’s creating a small psychological fortress:

• Boots ground him. Literally… in leather and craftsmanship.
• The cigar gives him air and ritual.
• And psychology would argue that what he’s really doing is finding a way to say: “I’ve got this.”

So next time someone tells you to go to therapy, just lace up your boots, strike a match, and declare: “I’m already in session.” Though for everyone’s sake, maybe don’t ash on the divan.