Oh, fashion!
It's mastery is not for the faint of heart. At its best it requires a sense of style, a good eye for coordination, color and beauty, and a willingness to try new things and improvise. At its worst it is a dictatorial killjoy spit out in monthly mags to the masses, upholding the great tradition of commercialism.
But fashion is, on the whole, neutral. It's what we do with it and what it says about us that matters. There are many who ordinarily attempt to follow the fashions and succeed, but who often have one quirk, one idiosyncracy in their style that stands out in the crowd. It is these very things that bear mentioning and on examination reveal much about the wearer themselves.
During World War II in Great Britain everything was rationed, from pats of butter to clothing and shoes. Now, shoes, for example, were not what they are today. For women they consisted of either massively high stacked heels with little padding and zero comfort or flats with wooden or rubber lasts, zero padding and thin leather sides. With ration coupons and government regulations limiting the number of shoe pairs per family to around 3 per year, women could narry afford to be particular. They had to make due with the pair they had till they wore out and got holes in the sole, or often had to take whatever shoe size was closest to theirs in the store because there were hardly any to be had. As a result, the British woman had continually painful feet.
However, nothing completely quelled the spirit of the British in WWII, not even bad shoes. The women always wore a full face of makeup and cheery red lipstick that came to be known as their "red badge of courage". Their lipstick represented their bravery, their fighting spirit. Their rouged pout highlighted the British adage, "Keep a stiff upper lip". The ostentatious spunk and beauty of a prized pair of red lips defied their poor shoes and their Nazi foes together. As a fashion statement, it can be argued that the juxtaposition of bad shoes with red lips won the war!
On the subject of shoes and fashion, I am further reminded of the character "Kramer" in the late 90's show "Seinfeld". An independent free spirit, Kramer lives by his own set of rules, often resulting in hilarious outcomes. In one episode he gets the bright idea to save time by installing a garbage disposal in his shower. He proceeds to peel and cut his vegetables while bathing and sends the scraps down the chute! The episode I am thinking of though, is when Kramer wore z-coils.
For those of you unfamiliar with the show, Kramer already stands out as a tall, ungainly man in 1960's-esque clothing with a thick hatch of curly fuzz that springs up off the top of his head into the ether. He decides, after seeing an infomercial, to try a special kind of athletic shoe called z-coils. You might have heard of them. They resemble a male nurse's black shoe on top and on the sole they are supported by thick platform rubber in the front and a huge, sproingy rubber coil on the heel that puts more than a little bounce in your step! In the afternoon Kramer has to get some dental work done, leaving his mouth numb and prompting him to drool a little. Afterwards, still in his z-coils, he sproings slack-jawed and drooling down the streets of New York City to hail a cab. A businessman reaches a cab the same moment Kramer does, and after a bit of akwardness, Kramer slurs out, "Naaah, YOU takesh ith," and sproings lurchily down the sidewalk. The businessman's stoic face, after taking a hard look at Kramer's gait, softens into mellow lines, and he calls Kramer back to share the cab with him. He has assumed Kramer is a half-wit and is determined to be kind to him, if only for the sake of his "disability"! The businessman asks him only simple questions which Kramer slurs out replies to, and they part ways amiably.
The moral of this sitcom story? Carry off whatever fashion addition you try with panache--Never be afraid to try something new (or feel self-conscious after dental work)--It just might get you a cab ride!
So that brings me to myself. I have always considered myself mostly fashion-conscious, though I tend to gravitate to the classics instead of trendier things. As for shoes, I love to look at them. When I was a girl I had a collection of little shoe figurines from historical times to the present lining a shelf (I think I still have those somewhere.) I've worked in a bridal salon and at Nordstrom, which boasts a shoe haven worthy of any woman's eye.
The problem is, I can't wear the grand, stiletto styles, the platform espadrilles, or the narrow wedges worthy of Carrie Bradshaw. They kill my back and knees and the two bunions I genetically inherited from my wonderful father. Not to mention, I have the feet of a duck. Yup. They are flat, wide at the front, and taper to near-points at the ankles. The only thing differentiating them from their feathered friends' in the animal kingdom is the absence of webbing. Every shoe salesman's nightmare.
So, what's a fashion-loving girl to do? I improvise. When I worked for fashion-conscious Nordstrom, I looked the part from the ankles up. I wore great slacks and tops, cute dresses, and made sure I had on the requisite 3 statement pieces to make an ensemble. On my feet, however, I wore Danskos--thick black clogs with tons of support--a real hit with nurses in the hospital. My coworker told me it looked like I was wearing bricks. Still, I could last longer in those bricks than a 10-hour day. While the girls in heels complained after a few hours, I was still racing around the floor gathering jewelry and Spanx for my customers with ease.
My other favorite pair of comfort shoes for my days off are my Keene walking sandals, which I've affectionately named my "Duck shoes". I mean, they are the shape of my foot to the extreme! They begin with a bulbous, rubber-toed front spreading completely flat and wide with slats for air, then narrowing to a strap at the exposed ankle. They are bright baby blue, like "Jesus" sandals on speed. When I wear them with shorts, they protrude from my skinny ankles like Bobo the Clown's. The thing is, when I wear them I feel a real connection with the ground. Garish as they are, I feel so stable and solid in them that my gait becomes straighter, and I unconsciously look ahead more, shoulders back and torso raised. There is no longer any need for me to look at the ground because my feet know the way.
So what do my shoes say about me? Do they say I've somehow missed my fashion cues? Or rather, like the British, that I choose to rise above my feet; like Kramer, that I will try something that promises comfort any day even if it makes me look like a, well, duck. Or maybe, that I've simply learned how to walk tall.
You go, Girl!
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