Shoes Make the Woman

August 27, 2013 – Shoes Make the Woman

Clothes may make the man, but shoes make the woman.  Thus, I’ve been in a bit of a quandary since my weekly phone conversation with my friend Lynda.  Lynda, who has known me since 7^th grade, bluntly informed me that I need to get a new pair of shoes to go with the midnight blue evening gown that I’m wearing to Elisa’s wedding.  I was really caught off guard because the previous week, when I’d seen Lynda in New York, she hadn’t responded to my casual comment that I’d be wearing my black leather pumps to the wedding.  After all, it’s a long dress, so how much of my shoes will be visible anyway?  And it’s not as if I proposed wearing my hiking shoes or my Teva sandals.

But Lynda’s remark got me thinking.  When I spoke to Elisa a few days ago, I mentioned Lynda’s concern about my shoes, naively expecting Elisa to tell me that my black pumps would be just fine.  Instead, she concurred with Lynda.  So, rather than ruin my daughter’s wedding by commiting a grievous fashion faux pas, I resolved to find a pair of “appropriate” shoes, i.e. formal, dressy shoes with plenty of sparkle, and with heels higher than (gulp) an inch or two.  It would also be nice if they were comfortable, but comfort is obviously low on the priority list.

So here’s the result of today’s shopping foray at the mall:  

 

Sparkle?  Check.  High enough heels?  Check.  Comfort?  Well, that’s a relative term.  These shoes clearly will not rival the comfort of my everyday footwear.  But as long as I can walk a few steps in them without toppling over, I’m willing to risk it. 

I hate to admit it, but once I tried them on, I actually liked the new look.  In fact, I made a second shopping trip today, this time to the local DSW where I promptly had an identity crisis after I tried on a pair of killer black patent leather platform peep toes with heels even higher than the ones I bought earlier today.  The problem is, the shoes looked good, very good – but would I actually dare to wear them in public?  Probably, if I were forty years younger, I wouldn’t have hesitated.  Or if I were considering a new career in street-walking. 

Yet, it wasn’t an easy decision to make.  Unwilling to take the shoes off, I kept parading around in them, checking my reflection in the foot level mirrors.  Should I buy them, or not?  Part of me said yes, and they were even on sale, such a bargain.  I could picture myself walking into the Kennedy Center or to a restaurant in New York in them.  I could also picture myself twisting my ankle and ending up on crutches for a few months.  Ouch!  So much for the trendy new me.  Yet, on the other hand, I wasn’t quite ready to give up the fantasy.  If I bought these shoes and they just sat in my closet, would it be such a tragedy? In the end, though, I decided to defer the final judgment.  With a certain reluctance, I slipped the shoes back into their box and walked away from them (in my super comfortable flat Ecco sandals). 

But DSW is just a few minutes from home, and there’s always tomorrow.