When I was a pre-teen and indeed a teen, due to my craptacular ankles, whilst other girls were reveling in the fashion of platform shoes and heels, I was living in trainers and Dr Martens boots. They were functional rather then fashionable and yet I adored them. In many many years through many many pairs (including a rather catching black and dark green marble effect pair that I've yet to see again) I'd never had a single issue with them, none of this breaking them in malarky.
Finally due to changing feet throughout pregnancies and weight gain my feet grew and my beloved 12 year old ten eyelet docs sadly had to find a new home. Utterly bereft was I, so a replacement was seeked. A brand spanking new pair. However, my excitement was soon replaced with the utter and total destruction of my heels as we know it. Seriously I exaggerate not when I refer to the fact they literally shred my heels into ribbons of flesh, blood, pain and misery. They were horrific. It got to the point were just the thought of wearing them gave me the complete and total fears. So they were swiftly sold on and I didn't replace them. I was well and truly put off. Until this year. I missed them, nothing else straps my ankles in and is as comfortable to walk in so I took a gamble and bought some 8 hole purple ones. Bloody gorgeous they are too. Yet once again the heels of doom. I scoured the internet for tips and tricks on breaking them in and game across a rather strange practice of, wait for it, pissing in your boots. It's okay though, it doesn't whiff, allegedly. That obviously makes it all okay then. The Husband gleefully offered to do it for me, needless to say I graciously declined despite his proclaims of what utterly wonderful stuff human wee is (I never knew I'd married Bear Grhylls in disguise....) I also discounted suggestions of setting fire to them (yes really..), running them over, assaulting them with a hammer, rogering the leather with a broom handle and using vodka (what a waste! proclaimed The astonished Husband)
I know from past stupidity that if you leave them out in the rain for several days they go remarkably soft yet even I wasn't desperate enough to subject my news boots under such a regime of neglect. I hunted for the vaseline but the children appear to have eaten it, or something. Believe me, if it is or something, I simply don't want to know. Then I had one of those super light bulb moments. A ha! ... Ah Ha, ah ha!.... Ah ha, ah ha, ah ha! Nipple rot cream! The bloody stuff cost a fortune and although absolutely necessary in early breastfeeding days I've had 3/4 of a tube simply sat there since 2010 so yes, I slathered it over the inside heels of my new boots. Several days running infact whilst wearing them around the house.
Then came the true test, I actually went out with them on. This could have been an incredibly stupid and painful move. However, thanks to the lansinoh, fleece lined tights and socks...not a blister did visit. Remarkable! Eureka! So the answer to breaking in new boots is seemingly nipple rot cream and fleece lined tights. There you have it, You can thank me later.