I am proud to announce that I have done it. I have cleaned out the shoe wardrobe. I have, gasp, gasp, chucked out eight pairs of shoes that were a)worn to the nub or b) too uncomfortable to walk or c)just ones I didnt like anymore. And these have included the ones I spent half the GDP on, and therefore was hanging on to for dear life and guilt and imagine what the hubby will say. The hubby said yay. Give it away. Therefore the maid has now a pair of red lizard skin Aldos which are the only pair with a midsize heel. Friends are rolling on the floor in laughter at the vision. And the other discarded, a blue denim with floral embroidery stilleto from Catwalk, a copper thong spike heel from I forget where, and a gorgeous black diamante studded velvet slip-on (not so nice with some diamantes missing in action) have gone the way all trash goes in this house. To the MIL. To be passed on to the raddiwallah. Yes. There is a pang of regret. To be fair, I would have passed the unused ones. But how do you ask anyone whether they would like an almost brand new pair of shoes, without them wanting to clout you with said pair of shoes. And that steel spike can put in a nasty hole in the cranium. And the sis in laws, the only ones whom I could dare ask said question dont wear them six inch heels. They’re practical and matronly. And wear box heeled pumps. And guess thats where I’m heading to fast enough. But not fast enough for this round of shopping I’m hoping.
And the good news is that I now have place for lots more. Therefore, Aldo, here I come. Charles & Keith make space for me. Catwalk, keep them wooden wedges polished. Am going shopping and aint nothing gonna stop me now. What is it about me and my shoes? Why is it that the latest Choo Lace has me all ashiver with desire in a way no man can ever hope to? Why is it, that I begged the powers above to give us some modicum of winter to allow me pull out the newspaper stuffings from my boots from deep within the attic? And now that the powers that be have granted me my wish, have realised that those boots are best worn when paired with a pair of great legs which I no longer possess and have packed them back in the hope that age will do better things to them legs than varicose veins. Yes, am ashamed to say I now chose my shoes not only for the lift they give me but also for sheer comfort purposes. A pair of shoes I cannot run around in is a pair of shoes I do not buy anymore. Yet I have evidence of the follies of my youth staring right at me as I write this. A pair of beautiful silver lace and denim wedge heels forlorn and unused because I risk becoming a Japanese street chic platform heeled manga character if I wear them, apart from the very obvious risk I face of twisting my ankle into two.
On my wish list, and if I can convince myself to shell out the lumpsum towards the shoe fund, a pair of croc skinned Ferragamos. In copper. Or pink. Or whatever colour they have in my size. I am not choosy. I just lust. And a black patent vinyl pair of lace ups. From I forget whom. I saw a glimpse in a magazine and have fallen in infatuation. Jimmy Choo, I think. It had a Choo look. Red Satin pointy toed pumps. Ahhhhh. A pair of red peep toes in patent from Mango would do as well. Or a round toe pair of patent pumps from Nine West in those nice lemony colours. Or that red patent number from Charles & Keith. What is it with my new obsession with patent? Wore them in the eighties, and now patent shoes are back with a bang and colours that hit the eye unapologetically. Considering almost all my clothes are black paired with denim, can flirt with a bit of colour on my feet. Coupled with my Jackie O sunnies, am set to sail. Or perhaps nude. Nude as in the shade of shoes to be bought. If research I did recently on shoes is to be believed, pink is out and nude is in. There go the pair of neon pink kitten heels with the pink flower corsage I picked up recently. I need to get myself a pair of strappy nude stilletoes for ultimate urban chic. And a pair of nude ballerinas. Am ruining the current only pair of matte gold croc skin ballerinas down to paper sole thickness. Yes, thats where practical comes into play. Ballerinas dont spread the weight around, but I can run to crack the minute mile if the need be in them.
Life was simpler when one was in college. One bought a single pair of shoes, from the sales at Linking road from money saved up from bus fare and tutions given, and then wore them with everything till they wore down to a nub. Got the heel redone everytime it threatened to fall off. Very often they fell off. But those were the days one walked. Really walked. And walked painfully on high heels. But soldiered on.
The shoes rarely wear out anymore, and one isnt content with just one pair. I guess that is the saddest comment one can make about oneself. I dont wear the shoe anymore. It wears me.