by her shoes shall you know her

I took two of my favourite pairs of shoes down to the shoe guy in the street where I work. Every now and then they need a little attention to look their best – I’ve a habit of drastically grinding down the heels (although never evenly, always from the inner heel to the outer, consequently giving me the appearance of knock knee’edness on occasion.)
My shoe guy meticulously filled in a docket for me which I assumed I’d need for easy retrieval of said shoes. But, no! No docket required. “I’ll know you again by your shoes,” says he.
Really? What will he know? What could he learn from a thorough inspection of my footwear? I want to know.
Still, in the past, information has been proffered with considerably less grounding in knowledge of me or my personal habits. I once saw a psychic who, after a few minutes (and most of these minutes spent with her eyes closed) declared that I had been a prostitute in my former life.
How did she know this? Was she peeking? And why not courtesan?
So, will he really know me again by my shoes – or – should I keep my docket handy?