Romance and Rubber Heels

The only redeeming characteristic of the cold front that came in between two weeks of summer was that it gave me an excuse to put my favorite shoes of last season back on for one more last hurrah if you will.

Boots, Loeffler Randall. Jeans, Paige Premium Denim

 Yet in putting these back on, after a few weeks of flip-flops and wedge sneakers, I realized that my sprained ankle had not, in fact, healed. I, of course, realized this while putting my makeup on and listening to Call Me Maybe Boyfriend cool, hip music well before I left the house to go downtown to Eastern Standard for one last evening out before the rush of paper writing and outlining. I thought, just for a moment, I should protect my only right ankle I will ever have and put on flat boots. Then, a moment later, I realized I would have weeks of protecting my ankle and what would one more night out on the town with an ankle sprain really mean in the long run? After all, I’m 25 which I beginning to realize goes both ways in this argument.

Lace up Oxfords, Proenza Schouler.

On the one hand, I clearly still have incredibly limber ankles despite my increasing age. On the other hand, I already have arthritis in one of my toes after an unfortunate walking-right-into-the-wall accident a couple of years ago. Whatever my condition, it is clear that these things (stilettos or heels in general) almost surely involve some sort of pain or another, but for some reason, I can’t give them up. In fact, I love them. Love.

What is it about them that is so addicting? More so than any other real item of apparel that I own. I am always on the lookout for shoes, always. I am in awe of girls who do not shoes. Partly because I want to be them and partly because I wonder what is wrong with them. There is no good reason for this love affair that so many women all over the world suffer from. So what is it?! I’m pretty sure I spent every dollar I made last year on clothing, and 2/3 of that was on shoes. What is it?!?


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