If The Shoe Fits, Wear It
I think I was six or seven years old when my Mother bought them for me: Italian-made t-strap shoes, uppers of soft, light brown pigskin, with the t-strap sporting three round insets of colored leather lined up just like a traffic light – red, yellow, and green. None of the other little girls wore shoes like this. They were also a couple sizes too big, and I hated them. They were big, unusual, and noticeable. If I could have, I would have taken them off and hidden them on my way to school, just as I would remove the barrette my mother used to secure the hair she painfully and vigorously brushed into place at the crown of my head. Barrette-free hair was not noticeable, but being shod in only socks was. I hated that barrette, and I hated those shoes. But because the shoes were expensive, I was encouraged to wear them. I also wore them because I knew my Mother loved them and I wanted to please her. My feet began to grow into the strange shoes, and other girls took notice, but their comments were not what I expected. The traffic light t-straps were getting compliments. Yes, compliments. I was surprised that the other girls would like such strange shoes, and I started to view them in a different light. Instead of feeling unusual and noticeable in a bad way, I started to feel unusual and noticeable in a good way. I started to feel somewhat sophisticated with my exclusive and exotic shoes, or as sophisticated as a seven year-old could feel, I guess. Instead of wearing them with embarrassment, I began to wear them with pride, and wore them until my feet could no longer fit into them.
Maybe the other little girls in Plainwell, Michigan were more fashion-savvy than I was, or maybe I felt a need to fit in, as I was unusually taller than them. Whatever the reason, I blame my obsession with shoes on the Italian pigskin t-straps. They were my first experience with the effect that shoes can have on your confidence and the image you project to others.
Like Dorothy’s ruby slippers, shoes can magically transform you (O.K. maybe it was Glenda the Good Witch’s wave of the wand that transformed Dorothy, but the shoes played a big part). Shoes can take an otherwise drab ensemble and make it trendy. Shoes can communicate status, sophistication, attitude, and mood. But best of all, shoes always fit. I may hesitate to spend $200 on a pair of jeans until I lose that extra 5 lbs. But with shoes, it doesn’t matter if I’m up or down 5 lbs., I don’t have to worry about whether or not I will be able to get them on. As an added benefit, high heels give your butt lift and make your legs look leaner and more shapely.
I currently own almost 100 pairs of shoes. There are black shoes with varying toes, heels, straps, and embellishments. Boots with lethal stilettos, petite kitten heels, and rubber soles good for walking. Running shoes, rain boots, snow boots. Fringed, brown suede slingbacks purchased in Brazil and pointy, black, snakeskin Gucci flats purchased in Tuscany. Whether it’s casually clunky Fryes, sleek Manolos or sporty Pumas, I select shoes as the final crowning contribution of my ensemble to either suit the activity I am about to embark upon, the mood I am wanting to portray, or the impression I want to give – or a combination of some or all of the above.
Shoes are so much more than just protection for the feet. Shoes are an extension of your personality displayed for all to see. Whether it’s a pair of silver cowboy boots with a spaceman emblazoned on the shaft, or a pair of sublimely crafted, sleek, black Louboutins, embrace your uniqueness and wear them with pride. It’s not so important whether they are the latest skyscraper-high “it shoe” or just plain comfortable for running errands. What is important is that you love your footwear because it’s you, and not an effort to fit in, impress, or keep up with the Joneses. Wear shoes that make you happy, and you might be pleasantly surprised by how they may make the observers of your shoes happy too.
~~~ Kris Bauer
