DSW Designer Shoe Warehouse - CLOSED

Reviews

• MW

  Melody Weaver

  Sep 20, 2025
  1.0
  Had no idea it was closing. Only about a dozen shelves.
• BA

  Basma Amer

  Aug 25, 2025
  5.0
  Got them on clearance for 20$ what a steal.
• CC

  Chris

  Aug 11, 2025
  4.0
  Good selection
• JG

  Josh Geishert

  May 20, 2025
  5.0
  I entered this store a broken man. Worn-down insoles. Mismatched socks. Spiritually blistered. But what I found was not just footwear—it was absolution. The sign said, “DON’T SLEEP ON THESE SAVINGS,” and for a moment, I thought maybe I had been sleeping. Not just on deals, but on myself. On who I could become. On the many versions of Josh buried deep beneath laces and shame. And so I walked—no, floated—through rows of shoes lit like an angelic IKEA labyrinth. Every aisle birthed a new identity: Josh Who Bought Running Shoes but Only Runs from Commitment Josh Who Believes Flip-Flops Can Be Formal if Worn With Enough Confidence Josh Who Owns Five Pairs of Boots and Has Never Been Outdoors Josh Who Called a Loafer “Sexy” and Meant It Josh Who Rented a Zipcar Once and Now Says “I Drive” Like He’s in Drive I thought that would be the peak. But then came the sign.. “A Shoe For Every You.” I stood there, trembling. The fluorescent lights flickered. Somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard a size 12 whisper my name. That’s when she arrived. Janine. Not walking. Drifting. From nowhere. From everywhere. She didn’t make a sound. The air just changed. Hair like static. Eyes like old receipt ink. A nametag written in a font I’ve never seen before and can’t describe, only feel. She didn’t speak. She simply extended a box toward me. Inside? A clearance-priced black sneaker that somehow looked like it knew my past. I asked, “How did you know my size?” She tilted her head like a crow hearing a song only birds remember. Then vanished into the Skechers. I never saw her again. Except in every reflective surface since. And the kids' section? Oh my god. Literal 3-foot-tall monarchs of joy smiling down from the walls like benevolent gods of Velcro. Shoes laid out with the solemn reverence of a museum display. I didn’t even have my kids with me. I asked the cashier if I could rent one—just for the hour. Just so I could feel worthy enough to linger. (They said no. But they smiled like they understood.) There’s also a bench. You’ll know the one. The bench. I sat on it. I cried. A store associate walked by, handed me a tissue, and said, “That happens.” A Poem for Janine She comes when clearance tags align, Between the sandals and the signs. A phantom in a name-tag mist, With spectral grip and calloused wrist. She fits the shoe you dare not seek, And vanishes before you speak. Rating: 5/5 Would follow Janine into the afterlife—or at least to the backroom.