Sometimes while in the mall or various high street shopping areas I would and will lust after shoes. I will look at them, I will talk about them, I remember when we went to Harrods in London and I saw mint green flats for around seven hundred pounds and I just couldn’t believe a pair of shoes could ever cost so much. Needless to say, I have a lot of shoes myself but I stick to under a certain price, usually seventy Canadian dollars for non-leather shoes, and if I can help myself then under fifty for seasonal wear. This brings me to the point of this post: I bought affordable, brown, beautiful, cosy OXFORDS the other day.
I think that is purchase has brought me to my style plateau. I once bought wing-tipped women’s flats from the same store and got compliments on them constantly until they were wore down to the point of a large hole through the entire sole of the foot. These Oxfords are readying themselves for the same wear. They are perfect, and were perfectly priced, and are comfortable and totally worth the FORTY FIVE dollars that I paid for them.
I think I have an addiction to classic shoes from my classic movie state-of-mind. Pretty in Pink showcases Molly Ringwald in Converse and Oxfords, which are two of my most prized shoes (in addition to my black light floral print dock martens and my knee high brown leather boots from London) and they will remain that way until I can wear them no longer. Shoes, it seems, are a stable and reliable part of my life.
As they should be, really. I mean, we have to wear shoes nowadays to look normal, which is a reasonable cultural assumption, but also shoes protect our feet and connect us to the ground. Sorry to sound yoga-hippy-dippy here but I did an entire “ground” yoga practise yesterday where I spent five minutes slapping, rubbing, and massaging my feet in order to ready them for a connection to the ground, and if our shoes are what connect us to the ground then why don’t we treat them with the same respect? They are worth spending money on and taking care of, they are what help us walk around comfortably, they are a statement but above all they are essential to everyday life (for vertical walking people, that is).
I have been told recently that I have too many shoes. I have accumulated a dear collection to me over the past handful of years that I have been able to go out, buy and choose shoes for myself. It is one thing to buy your own clothes, jeans, the tarticles and pieces that accompany you through everyday life and say more about you than what you might think, but it is liberating to literally give yourself the article of clothing that allows you to get from point a to point b. Those Oxfords have already taken me across the city, and I expect to take them a far way as well. The relationship I have with my shoes may be love-hate at times of long-wear, but for the most part it is one of those relationships where you are grateful to have one another, or so I would assume.
Ps.I sincerely promise to write about more interesting things than shoes and salads in the near future.