Several decades ago, I remember
the thrill of being hired for a job in New York City. I celebrated by buying
new shoes. Shiny red pumps that made me feel powerful. They were cheap shoes,
and all that I could afford at that time. In spite of that, my red shoes were a
potent symbol of accomplishment for me.
Although I have a fair amount of
shoes, I would never consider myself a shoe addict. For starters, I developed
hereditary bunions a few years ago, making the latest fashion difficult to
wear. I have also never been especially fond of wearing shoes that would not
allow me to run away from a mugger (did I
mention that I grew up in New York?).
Shoes are not just a fashion
accessory; they also symbolize our standpoint in life. Even the most decidedly
anti-shoe person is making a statement by wearing shoes void of fashion. They provide both a philosophical platform as well
as a practical one. You are not likely to wear rain boots to the beach anymore
than you would wear flip-flops in the rain.
When I moved to California, I had
a strong feeling that Northern California, my first landing spot, was not going
to be home for me, but decided to give it a chance anyway. After all, everyone
always sings the praises of the Bay Area as though it was utopia (and for some,
it is). More important than my instincts that this was not the right place for
me, though, was that I could never find the right shoes. This small crisis
reached a climax one afternoon when strolling through art galleries in San
Francisco. The cute kitten heel, faux animal print shoes I had purchased in
Miami began to hurt. Those darn bunions, yes, but what were my other options?
Okay, by now you are probably
finding this discourse about shoes to be superficial, but hear me out. This is not really about shoes.
In Northern California, all
manner of 'sensible' walking shoes are popular. They can be expensive and very well made,
but high fashion, definitely not. There is a mindset here about a deep connectedness
to nature and eco-friendly consciousness. Hence, the cultural penchant toward wearing
comfortable shoes.
In an effort to overcome my shoe
dilemma, I purchased an expensive, well constructed, round toed, black leather
Mary Jane style, comfort shoe. It had special insoles meant to support your
feet. They were the ugliest, and most certainly, the least sexy, shoes I ever
bought, and they are very popular in Northern California. They reminded me of
orthopedic shoes.
After wearing them a few times,
my pricey walking shoes were retired to the closet. I gave up. Northern
California did not fit. After all, I had a closet full of fashionable sandals and
sharp-toed pumps in every color from my Miami days that were being neglected.
I was left with two choices:
learn to wear shoes I do not like, or move.
Anyone want to buy a hardly worn,
black leather pair of Mary Jane’s in a size six?
Copyright Asandra 2013
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