Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The shoe bug bit me later than it bites most. I lived most of my first twenty-five years in chucks, (the best shoes in the world), or maybe keds, (later on when you could finally buy them in NZ). I liked other shoes, but chucks go with everything, and seemed an inoffensive way of saying I don't care (even if I did). Chucks are more fun to dance in, easier to run drunkenly in (or walk anytime in; how do women do it in heels? how?! I'm like Bambi in them!), and I'd enjoy watching girls teetering in their heels while I banged around in the same shoes as half the boys in the room.
Then it bit, and I understood. I still can't justify spending lots of money on them, I still don't buy many of them, and I still wear chucks or keds every second day... but now I look at shoes and I see them. Perhaps because I don't often buy them, and then wear them into the ground (chucks and keds with paint-stains, tears, and permanently brown bits) or hardly ever wear them so they still look new (every pair of heels I've ever bought, although inept/drunken walking hasn't done them any favours), shoes seem to me to be things that last, like art, and not just because of their asthetic appeal/non-appeal. Shoes make an outfit look deliberate. Shoes keep your feet clean. And shoes make me want them, not necessarily even to wear, but just because they're so fucking pretty.