Feet and Shoes

Talking about feet this morning in my post about the Corporate Suit got me thinking and made me super aware of what people were doing with theirs at lunch time. I popped into town to buy some books for the final semester of my Masters and found myself doing my usual London quick-pace around town, but slowing outside each shoe shop I passed.

Patent Leather is in this season, as is the 30s rounded toe, outward curved heel and ribbon fastenings, red, black and silver. I wandered into David Jones, the department store where you can peruse such brands as Malano, Robert Robert, Burburry, Jimmy Choo and many others all under one roof. I tried on a pair of black patent Robert Robert with elastic across the front of the foot, very sexy, but just a little too slim for plates of meat like mine. I suppose I should thank my Mum for making me wear ugly boy shoes as I was growing up, it means that I now have well formed, strong bones but it does mean that most modern shoes are just too narrow.

Then I saw the Jimmy Choo black patent leather ankle boots with a gold highlights around the toe and three straps with gold buckles. The sales lady was excited when I asked to see them in a size 38, but then I should think that was all to do with the commission earned from a $1250 pair of boots. Anyway, she brought them out and gave me a pair of granny stockings to put on, and then I did my best impression of an ugly sister, squeezing my foot into the boot. My toes went in fine, my heel slipped into place without too much fuss, but I had no hope of doing them up. There was a centimetre gap between the top of the tongue and the side of the boot, the straps hung limply, I had managed to turns these works of art into something ordinary. I removed them and stuffed the acid free paper bundles back into them before replacing them in the box, my heart sinking with each movement.

I left the store thinking it was probably best they didn’t fit, I’m still paying for the Malono purchase and I was carrying $142.70 worth of Uni (plus a couple of Alison Tyler) books.

As I walked back to work in my wide, comfy, flat, green leather thongs (made for me by Eugenia Neave of Adelaide) I found myself looking at the ladies feet around me and wandering why they insist on wearing nice, expensive shoes when they don’t look after their feet. Is there really anything less attractive than chipped toe polish, hardened cracked heels and blisters covered with plasters, shuffling along?