I simply must stop wearing foolish shoes.
Yesterday I wore foolish shoes all day long. They were strappy sandals with big silver buckles and a 3” heel. I wore them to Atlanta for meetings and lunch. I loved the way that they showed off my fresh pedicure. I stopped at the Thorton Road thrift store (Mondays= ½ off everything) and flitted around in my foolish shoes like I was Marlo Thomas in the opening credits of “That Girl.”
I had a great day of being stylish.
But this morning, my right knee is barking at me and I know why. Because I shouldn’t be wearing those foolish shoes.
It’s going to be hard to give them up. I have always loved beautiful shoes. I got hooked on them early on- when I was a little girl, mama had several pairs of gorgeous pointy-toed pairs that I like to call “Jacki O’s.” I can remember clunking around in them, posing in front of the mirror. I remember pretty shoes in an art book that we had sitting around the house. There was a portrait of the King of France, Louis XIV. He was wearing a pair of 3” brocade pumps with a pair of white silk stockings. (On a side note- the Sun King had a pair of gams that would stop traffic).
I went through a tomboy phase where I would have rather died than wear pretty shoes, but when I turned 15, something happened. I began to crave high heels. We bought my first pair at an outlet store in Lithia Springs. They were fine leather pumps- black with a spikey heel- 3-½ inches and they made my legs look like they were 5 feet long. I was hooked.
But wearing heels came with responsibility, which my grandmother Hattie was quick to point out. I had to be able walk in them. And given my long-limbed, coltish nature, Hattie knew she’d better teach me how. I remember walking back and forth in her living room, tipsy-footed at first but finally learning how to balance. That afternoon, Hattie told me something that I have carried with me ever since. “Always walk like a queen, no matter what you’re wearing.”
When I went to Paris to work, my baggage was all stolen (on the first day) and a photographer’s assistant took pity on me and gave me his ex-girlfriend’s clothes. She’d returned to America several weeks before, leaving a few exquisitely expensive articles of clothing behind. My foot was the same size as hers, so I inherited her fine Italian pumps. I always wore them to cattle calls, because nothing bumped you out of a Parisian fashion house faster than a pair of ugly shoes.
Being a thrifty person made it hard to find beautiful shoes in my price range. But I did occasionally run up on them- gleaming like the Holy Grail from the rack at the thrift store- fine leather in rich hues. I have friends knew my love for beautiful shoes and if they came across a pair in my size, they saved them for me.
I had this friend when I lived in Columbus who went a step further in fueling my shoe addiction. We worked for the same agency. She was married to a wealthy lawyer. When she got really mad at him (which she did frequently), she’d punish him by going shopping – and she loved to buy shoes. We both wore an 8 ½ – the perfect model size. But she didn’t really wear an 8 ½. She was more like a 9 ½ but refused to admit it. So she bought her shoes too small. And that meant after she wore them one unsuccessful time, I happily inherited her foolish shoes.
Some people find it hard to believe that I like to wear high heels. I’m pretty tall- 5’10”, which flat-footed is taller than most people on this planet. So when I add 3-4 inches of stylish heel, it raises me up to Godzilla-like proportions (a friend in church choir calls me “Gi-gantor”). But I don’t care. I’ve always found that there’s something about a smart heel that finishes an ensemble. Something that flat shoes just can’t achieve.
And I’ve stuck to that principal firmly. Up until now. But I’ve passed the half-century mark (like it’s standing still) and lately I’ve become more flexible with my “I will nevers.” Like, “I will never wear reading glasses. I’d rather be blind.” (Which I am now- without my reading glasses) and “I will never wear elastic waist pants” (which I am currently sporting- we call them “yoga pants”). But the greatest “never will I do” was wear flat shoes. But my knee, slightly swollen and aching from my fancy-footwear-folly yesterday tells me otherwise. My knee says, “You will wear flats and like it.”
So, I’m a little sad today, as I box up my ridiculous shoes to take to the thrift store. There’s a part of womanhood that’s tied up in beautiful shoes for me- a part that’s passed and left me behind in sneakers. But even though I am sorry to see my foolish shoe days go, my grandmother Hattie’s words come to mind. “Always walk like a queen, no matter what you’re wearing.”
Sneakers it is.
This column was originally printed in the Times-Georgian. Mimi Gentry’s stories can be read every Thursday in the Times-Georgian.