My 1940s (black, 14 eye, steel toe, fine haircell) have been with me since the heyday of flannel and grunge. They've been stomped on in mosh pits, tropmed through muddy-ass paintball fields, repeatedly soaked with salt water and then dried 'till crispy, showered with sparks and sprinkled with droplets of molten metal, been bathed in oil and gas and grease and hydraulic fluid, hiked countless miles up mountain peaks, been stepped on by more horses than I can count ( their steel toes saving me bruises, or broken bones), survived car crashes and, recently, my first-ever motorcycle wreck (they are the only footgear I would ever ride in). You name the abuse, they've taken it. Now, I'm not gonna lie; they do look like like absolute shit. They're covered in gouges, scrapes, and even cracks from the times I neglected to care for (and oil) them properly.
But after all that, they're still the most comfortable shoes I own, and I have no doubt that they'll give me another decade or two of service before giving up the ghost- more, if I get them re-soled. Best damn seventy-five bucks I ever spent.
Docs are the shit. If you don't own a pair, you're doing yourself (and your feet) a disservice.