The Story of My Life in Shoes

It was 1973 and I was just out of college and had a job and an apartment and my own car (a purple Corvair) and I saw this pair of shoes in the Spiegel catalog. Shoes to die for. They were Chanel red patent leather with a 1 inch platform and a 4" heel and consisted of nothing more than a little heel guard that cupped the back of your foot and a criscrossed bow over the toes. I don’t even remember how much they were but I knew I would DIE if I didn’t own them.

I remember waiting for their delivery in AGONY — oh, those shoes were going to make my life complete. And they were beautiful and I wore them and wore them and wore them though the thought of that today makes my aching back ache that much worse.

Later there were other memorable shoes — a pair of mauve suede sandals on a high platform of dark wood with intricate designs carved in them. They were purchased by a friend on vacation in Greece and, within weeks of the purchase, grew. I had bigger feet so inherited them and, oh, how I loved them.

Then there were the ivory linen wedgies with the long laces that you wrapped around your legs until they were tied just below the knee. And half a dozen pairs of T-straps with squashy heels in different colors that were ever-so French looking. Anais Nin was photographed in a pair just like them. And a pair of violet leather boots just like Stevie Nicks and a pair of black suede boot with a long fringe around the top that laced all the way up the front that were just like Cher’s. Actually, I still have those. Somewhere.

It’s a funny thing. I don’t remember much about my clothes but I have fond memories of shoes. Well, I’m fond of the idea of those shoes but the truth is they nearly killed me. They squashed my toes and massacred my instep and traumatized my calves and screwed up my back but, like too many abusive relationships, that never stopped me from loving them.

And, alas, things have changed dramatically. For years now I’ve lived in Birkenstock sandals in the summer and clogs in the winter but even they don’t provide the ease and comfort they once did. Actually, I can’t believe I am even talking about shoe comfort. There was a time when I looked down my nose at women who lived for their comfortable shoes. No more.

I see a lot of people around in athletic shoes but somehow I’ve just never been able to wear them outside of a gym. I don’t find them comfortable. The tops of me feet are sensitive and I always wind up loosening the laces again and again until they are practically flopping off my feet.

So last night in a fit of despair I logged on to Zappos and started cruising for something reasonably attractive, comfortable with some arch support that would fit my size 11, wedge-shaped feet — narrow in the heel, wide across the toes. I quickly gave up on the “attractive” part. I ordered something. I’m not sure how I will like them but I’m willing to give them a try. Sigh.

What is it about us women and our feet. Men don’t have these problems! They wear what fits and feels good but we want something cute — is there such a thing as cute in a size 11? All my life I have been told I have pretty feet. Age has worked its mischief on that but I still polish my toenails and at least make an effort but finding something I can wear without issues of one sort or another is getting to be a pain. Maybe I’ll just wear the boxes.... Sigh.

Thanks for reading.