Posted: Sep 23, 08
4:06pm
Let me say at the beginning, I do not have a shoe fetish. Why, then, do I own countless pairs of shoes? (Actually they probably could be counted in no more time than it takes to watch a movie, I am just too embarrassed to do it.) It's not as if I am constantly searching for the perfect shoes to coordinate with my latest outfit. All of my shoes go with all of my clothes because they're all black, unless they are brown. The last thing I would ever do is buy a cute pair of red shoes, because it might encourage people to look at my feet, something I have been trying to prevent for as long as I can remember. (I wouldn't go this far, but I totally understand Seymour Glass, the J.D. Salinger character in A Perfect Day for Bananafish who committed suicide after a lady stared as his feet in an elevator.)
All of my pairs of shoes, the black ones and the brown ones, fail in varying degrees to achieve the two attributes I'm constantly seeking: comfort and style. They are all compromises, and when it comes to shoes compromises don't work. Especially when you live in New York City, where shoe reality and shoe fantasy clash, as they do nowhere else in the county. Consciously or not, New Yorkers' footgear expectations are shaped by Sex and the City, whereas their needs are governed by the hard (literally) fact of needing to walk for miles on sidewalks.
My own problems are compounded by foot issues wrought by many years of pavement pounding, and by having “hard-to-fit” feet - meaning feet that are not “medium,” the shoe width decreed to fit all Americans. The trade-offs I have been willing to make have changed over the years, edging ever more toward comfort. And recently I decided it was time for another step in the direction of pain-free footgear. Still, I'm not willing to look totally frumpy. I decided that the best look would be black retro-styled sneakers for any event, no matter how dressy. My thinking was that at any kind of crowded stand-up venue, no one notices your feet. As long as you are wearing black pants (which I always am), and as long as they are fashionably long enough to practically drag the floor, no one can even see your feet. And if they do happen to notice your footwear, maybe they'll mistake you for a rebellious teenage boy who's only willing to dress up to a certain point.
I've just returned from my first outing with the new shoe philosophy and I have to report that it was an embarrassing failure. The occasion was a benefit/reading/cocktail party of Writers for Obama. The event was organized by a friend and when she saw that people were reluctant to sit in the first row, she dragooned us to fill it. Never mind that I was wearing a stylish and expensive silk top and appropriate jewelry, my black sneakers were very much on display. I did not, as I had imagined, feel superior to the other women who were wearing sexy, yet obviously uncomfortable, shoes. I felt like they were wearing sexy shoes and I wasn't. So back to the drawing boards. I'm not sure what the solution is but somehow I imagine it will involve new shoes.
