The Forgotten Throne of Every 70s Shoe Store

If you grew up in the 70s, 80s, or even the ear­ly 90s, you prob­a­bly remem­ber this strange lit­tle met­al “seat” the sales­per­son used to sit on — the low, shiny, foot-mea­sur­ing throne that looked more like gym equip­ment than fur­ni­ture.

Back then, buy­ing shoes wasn’t just a quick grab-and-go like it is today. It was an event. Your mom dressed you up, the store smelled like new leather, rub­ber soles, and that strange pow­der they sprin­kled inside shoes, and then… there it was.
The Shoe Salesperson’s Sad­dle.

This con­trap­tion was the unof­fi­cial sym­bol of child­hood shoe shop­ping.
Tall enough to seem impor­tant, small enough to seem mys­te­ri­ous, and equipped with a footrest that looked like a slide, it was the cen­ter of every vis­it.

The Ritual Everyone Remembers

The moment you approached, the sales­per­son — usu­al­ly in a tie, vest, or an apron full of pens — would sit down on this device like a roy­al ser­vant prepar­ing for duty.

You would place your foot on the angled plat­form, and with­out fail, they would pull out the Bran­nock device — that cold met­al foot-mea­sur­ing tool that always felt like a medieval instru­ment.

Every kid felt the same three things:

1. Con­fu­sion – “Why does he need to touch my heel?”
2. Awk­ward­ness – “Do I stand? Do I sit? Am I doing this right?”
3. Pride – “Yes. That’s right. I grew half a size.”

Then came the test walk.
The lit­tle stomp.
The ques­tion every par­ent asked:
“Do they feel okay? Wig­gle your toes.”

A Seat That Wasn’t Really for Sitting

To this day, nobody knows who designed this thing — but one thing is clear:
No child ever sat on it.

This was sacred ter­ri­to­ry.
Reserved for the Shoe Store Wiz­ard only.

It was the bar­ber chair of shoe shop­ping.
The den­tist chair of child­hood fash­ion.
The throne of soles and souls.

Why It Disappeared

Shoe stores changed.
Self-ser­vice replaced the per­son­al rit­u­al.
The sales­per­son dis­ap­peared, the mag­ic van­ished, and this fun­ny lit­tle stool went with it.

Now we mea­sure our own feet, guess our size, and hope for the best.

But for any­one who grew up before the touch­screen era, this chair is a whole mem­o­ry by itself. A reminder of:

• Going shoe shop­ping before the first day of school
• Your mom insist­ing you need­ed “one pair for every­day and one nice pair”
• Walk­ing out with squeaky-clean sneak­ers you refused to wrin­kle
• Feel­ing like you had grown up a lit­tle every time the sales­per­son said, “You’re a size big­ger than last year!”

A Childhood Time Machine

Look­ing at this pic­ture isn’t just nos­tal­gia — it’s time trav­el.
It’s one of those small objects that instant­ly brings you back to a world that no longer exists. A world where:

• Some­one tied your laces for you
• Shoes came in box­es stuffed with soft white tis­sue
• And buy­ing new sneak­ers felt like the great­est day of your life

The stool may be gone, but the mem­o­ries?
They’re still per­fect­ly mea­sured.