A Love Letter to Shoes
And the heroes who fix them
Shoes. Why do I love them so much? Is it because I detest the sight of feet so much that I love anything that covers them up? Or is it in my blood–my mother’s love for platforms and loafers and anything shiny ingrained itself into my DNA? I guess it doesn’t really matter why, I just have to accept the fact that I have an unhealthy and expensive love for shoes that could lead me down a very Carrie Bradshaw-like path (thank god I have less of a budget!).
I really got to thinking about shoes this week when I picked myself up a little treat–a new pair of light orchid Adidas sneakers. My delight at picking them up at the store, trying them on, and literally hearing ohs and ahs from the people around me was truly unmatched. There’s nothing better than a new pair of shoes.
My shoe-fetish started young, like most fetishes do (is that gross?). I loved trying on everyone’s shoes, which of course included my mom’s (see photo below, I believe those are her wedding shoes) and her friends’, which I preferred because they wore high heels, and my mom didn’t. In shoe stores, I would put my chubby little toddler hands in heels and clomp them around on the ground, adding in sound effects.
Suffice it to say that the obsession hasn’t faltered, and my sights are still set on a new pair of shoes whenever my budget allows. I’ve loved (and lost) many a pair of shoes over the years and I don’t discriminate on type. Shoes that I hold closest to my heart include a pair of gold sparkly Mary Janes (my version of ruby red slippers), my middle school lavender Keds, and purple-y fuchsia knee-high Hunter rain boots.
Loving shoes does come with a cost, though, and not just literally. I’ve had my fair share of shoe mishaps that hurt that much more because of my love for footwear. The aforementioned lavender Keds bit the bullet on an escalator on a school trip to D.C., getting the heel caught in the stairs, ripping off a rubber chunk and stopping the escalator altogether. Not to worry, that’s what the shoe repair guy is for! My love for buying vintage shoes from Depop has also gotten me into some trouble. I got the most gorgeous silver pumps with a square toe for my college graduation and after taking two steps into the ceremony the poor old outsoles fell flat off. Again, thank you to my local cobbler for making them all better! Last spring, while strutting to class one fine morning, my sheer vintage flats, lacking any sort of traction whatsoever, caused me to completely eat shit on 5th Ave on a particularly slippy sidewalk. Yikes! Those were simply re-homed, too much bad blood, and therefore not pictured.
As shoe styles change, I’ve found myself dabbling in some regrettable choices here and there (I will never wear an Air Force 1 again as long as I live), but I have some truly tried and true pairs and styles. One of my best shoe finds was in Rome circa 2019, when I discovered a sole (pun) pair of black and white Underground Creepers on extreme sale (seen above). Sure, they were a size too small, but did I buy them? Absolutely. Do I still wear them at least twice a week? Yep. And do I probably need a replacement pair because they’re so well-loved? You bet.
As for the future of my shoe game, I’ve got my sights set on some big budget purchases. My white whale is a pair of black Prada loafers–not the chunky ones, because they aren’t timeless–but the sleek, slim, classic penny loafers. Please, oh please, stop raising the price, Prada! More controversially, I have my heart set on some Tabis. Though style and color are not for certain, I’m debating between brogues and Mary Janes, potentially in brown. Stay tuned, because if I ever get the funds and pull the trigger, you will all be the first to know. Until then, I’ll be wearing my Creepers into the damn ground.
To shoes–may we love them forever, wear them to death, and always, always, take them to the cobbler.
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