Thursday, October 19, 2006

On Your Feet!

I love shoes. I can't help it, it's just something that seems to go along with XX chromosome patterns… or maybe I'm just trying to rationalize? Probably... but...

I love girly shoes!

I love high-high heels. I love beading and sequins and fringe and bows. I love Lucite heeled stripper shoes. I loved the platform shoes of the 70s that had a clear heel you could actually keep a goldfish in! Cruel? Sure. Cool looking? Ab-so-fucking-lutely!

I love strappy shoes. I LOVE S&M fetish shoes. I love old-school cockroach-killer '50s high-heels. I love boots! Thigh-high pirate boots that lace up the back (I have a pair of those: yum!) and short little ankle boots. I love flats!

I do not love big clunky shoes that look like they belong on a construction site. Doc Martens? Ugh. Really.

I have far too many shoes. Most of them are ridiculously inexpensive PayLess shoes. I love PayLess. You can buy a half-dozen pair of shoes for less than the price of one pair of SERIOUS shoes, and if they end up hurting your feet, or if they get rained on or otherwise destroyed, or simply worn out, it just doesn't matter: because they were so cheap! It also allows me to indulge my divergent tastes in shoes and buy trendy-trendy shoes that I won't ever wear again and not feel guilty about it.

Today I am wearing an adorable pair of dark purple flats with a rhinestone buckle. $9 at PayLess last year. Love them.

The only downfall to the higher heels that I own and wear less frequently than I'd like is the street factor. Oh sure I can walk in them (or I wouldn't buy them) but can I maneuver on the New York City Streets in them? Not always. It's not even a matter of diverting away from slick surfaces or grates that catch and destroy covered heels; it's a matter of speed.

I tend to be late.

I was born late. Literally. Six days late. It's as if I knew what was out there and I didn't want to deal. BUT I learned to walk in heels early. I did the usual dress-up in Mommy's clothes that kids do… down to the shoes. But since I had my growth spurt very young (one of the few things I did early) I was wearing the same size shoes as my mother by the fourth grade… so learning to walk in heels was relatively simple for me. In college I ran around in 4 inch platform SANDALS all the time. And I when I say RAN around I mean it. I could actually run in the things! But the streets of New York offer far too many challenges and I run late to appointments, shows, work, everything and I need to be able to scoot. And so, cute flats are my favorite go-to shoes.

I try to be mindful of those in heels on the street. I'll move over and walk on the subway grates so that my high-heel shoe-lovin' sister can have the sidewalk and not fall on her face. I hope others wearing flats will do the same for me when I'm caught out in heels. It's something that should be understood by all women who brave the streets in high heels.

Wearing high heels makes me feel feminine and sexy… but also vulnerable and unsafe. I like the former and dread the latter. I don't think men understand the concerns that women have on a daily basis about what they can wear out. We do have to be careful. Something adorable at a party of friends or even when with someone can illicit frightening attention on the street if you're alone. This means clothing as well as shoes, and there's little as frightening as realizing you are being menaced while wearing shoes you cannot move fast in... it's bad. So when I will be traveling alone, on the subway or just walking, I almost never wear my real killer shoes. I need to feel safe in my ability to get the hell outta the way, and sadly, the beautiful shoes don't give me that feeling.

But they sure are purty!

Did this little blog have a point? Is there a deeper meaning about the human condition somewhere hidden in the metaphor of the coveted gorgeous woman's shoe? Could be... but you'll have to figure this one out on your own: and when you do, please drop me a line - because I'm clueless here!

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