I am not a material girl by any means, but I do have one weakness — shoes.
For years, I have dreamed of owning an exquisite pair — be it a style by Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik or the ultimate — Christian Louboutin. The famous six-inch platforms have become increasingly popular over the past few years, and fashion mavens feel orgasmic when they read or hear the French designer’s name.
I have never seen so many women in one place with the red-soles as I have in Manhattan. Big surprise, fashion capital of the world, but what’s all of the fuss about anyway? They are just shoes. Just shoes? Christian Louboutins are not just any shoes. They are like art for the feet, and the modern-day woman is entitled to a splurge every now and then.
My husband promised me a shopping excursion, and last week was the big event. We arrived at Bergdorf’s and rode the escalator to the their famous shoe department on the second floor. The perfect specimens were displayed across the front of the entrance. Where to begin? I chose to dive in and barely come up for air, trying as many platform styles as possible. But after hours of sampling shoe after shoe, we came to one conclusion— I cannot wear Christian Louboutins. I felt like one of the ugly stepsisters in Cinderella trying to get my big, fat, even uglier dancer feet into the most beautifully designed shoes on the planet. Pair after pair, I struggled to squeeze my toes into a size 9 or 9 1/2, without success. Ugh! But I am only an 8 or 8 ½. Not in these shoes. I don’t have the super-model body, and I wasn’t blessed with the feet either.
Years of anticipation ended in utter disappointment. Apparently, not every woman can wear Louboutins. They are considered narrow through the toes, and if I am being honest, I didn’t find them comfortable. But then again, skinny toes can make all the difference. Double frown.
This was a minor obstacle, and it would not ruin my fashionable footwear moment. I would move on, and find another more comfortable, yet haute option that I could walk at least a block in to hail a taxi. This is the absolute bare minimum when buying stylish and impractical heels, but I usually hope for more like six to eight blocks, and possibly a set of subway stairs. I know this is pushing the limit, but I can’t wrap my head around any woman paying the cost of a mini-vacation for a pair of shoes she cannot stand in. Maybe I would have sucked it up in my twenties and taken an aspirin, but I am too practical in my forties. And when I was a twenty-something, only Payless was in the budget.
After trying pump after peep-toe from the likes of Jimmy Choo, Giuseppe Vanotti, Brian Atwood, and Yves St. Laurent, finally a classic Italian would take the prize. In just a few hours, I learned that my toes are simply too fat for Christian Louboutin, and I am a Fendi girl after all.
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