The shoe salesman said, “I have one more thing for you to consider.” He pulled a box from behind his back and said he had a sense that perhaps I might be open to something a little different.

He opened the box to reveal a shoe patterned like a Hawaiian shirt- all floral pinks, purples and greens. I looked over at the two shoes I had just tried on, both of which matched the requirements I walked in with: running shoes that I could wear to/from work in dark neutrals with subtle accents of color. He continued with his pitch undeterred by my perplexed squint, maybe because the stare was juxtaposed with a smile that I couldn’t quite suppress. These shoes seemed ridiculous.

He explained that this limited edition shoe had come out some months ago and was the first time Nike had utilized its proprietary printing technology allowing them to print a pattern onto a single sheet of fabric used to construct the body of the shoe. It’s an excellent running shoe but the optics simply threw some people off. In fact he had a pair himself that he enjoyed running in but now he mostly just wears them to work because they’re simply too nice to suffer the wear and tear of running. This was the last pair left, it’s in my size and they’re on sale- priced less than the other shoes I was considering.

“Would you like to try them on?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling slightly uneasy but equally exhilarated.

* * *

The first time a stranger stopped and commented on my shoes I was confused, looking down myself to see just what they found so interesting. After a while I just came to expect and even look forward to the spontaneous interactions. Sometimes people would simply smile and comment as they walked by but more often then not they would stop and chat, as if a good friend had just introduced us. People seemed drawn by the unique, unexpected look, seemingly curious what this shoe-decision said about me. Sneakerheads would nod their approval.

I hadn’t intended to buy a conversation starter, in fact just the opposite. This unexpectedly positive situation started to make me question my criteria for many of my decisions, even beyond shoes. Not that every product, action and communication needed to spark fascination and spontaneous social interactions (that would be exhausting), but it was an intriguing possibility – one that was I willing to let hover at the forefront of my decision making in case the opportunity arose.

* * *

I also wondered whether I could more actively reproduce the experience. Returning to the same shoe store months later, I scanned for my salesperson. No luck. I took some time to study the wall of shoes then asked a salesperson, “Do you have anything interesting, maybe out the ordinary for a running shoe?”

“Just what you see here” he said. “Let me know if you see anything you want to try on,” He smiled politely.

“Alright,” I murmured.

I stared at the wall again. Nothing spoke to me so I left. I realized that I didn’t need a salesperson, I needed a collaborator.

* * *

I’ve experimented with different approaches since with varying degrees of success. Recently, I went into a small wine shop and told the salesperson that I was on my way to a party. I wanted a wine that wasn’t for everyone. It should be interesting in ways that may cause some controversy, even among friends but ultimately was remembered long after the party was over. I gave him a moderate price range and after a moment of looking around he pulled a bottle from the shelf and proceeded to tell me a colorful story of an eccentric winemaker and his limited edition wine that the whole staff was intrigued with. I left with two bottles – one for myself. It was weird and delicious.

A careful blend of design and story can often yield powerful results, elevating products and experiences in ways that are surprising, challenging and disruptive.

And isn’t that better than just a pair of shoes?