Cool Shoes

Cruel Shoes, a satirical short-short story by Steven Martin (1979):

Anna knew she had to have some new shoes today, and Carlo had helped her try on every pair in the store. Carlo spoke wearily, “Well, that’s every pair of shoes in the place.”

“Oh, you must have one more pair...”

“No, not one more pair... Well, we have the cruel shoes, but no one would want...”

Anna interrupted, “Oh yes, let me see the cruel shoes!”

Carlo looked incredulous. “No, Anna, you don’t understand, you see, the cruel shoes are...”

“Get them!”

Carlo disappeared into the back room for a moment, then returned with an ordinary shoe box. He opened the lid and removed a hideous pair of black and white pumps. But these were not an ordinary pair of black and white pumps; both were left feet, one had a right angled turn with separate compartments that pointed the toes in impossible directions. The other shoe was six inches long and was curved inward like a rocking chair with a vise and razor blades to hold the foot in place.

Carlo spoke hesitantly, “... Now you see why... they’re not fit for humans...”

“Put them on me.”

“But...”

“Put them on me!”

Carlo knew all arguments were useless. He knelt down before her and forced the feet into the shoes.

The screams were incredible.

Anna crawled over to the mirror and held her bloody feet up where she could see.

“I like them.”

She paid Carlo and crawled out of the store into the street.

Later that day, Carlo was overheard saying to a new customer, “Well, that’s every shoe in the place. Unless, of course, you’d like to try the cruel shoes.”

***

What is it about women and shoes that make people wonder if we've taken leave of our senses? I’ll admit many a time I have been branded as an Imelda wannabe, though mine number more modestly around 50 pairs than the 3,000 she purportedly left behind when her family fled the Malacanang Palace. But who’s counting? My brother (or was it my ex-husband?) once declared, “I think you played with Barbie dolls too much when you were little. You have to have matching shoes for every outfit.” Spoken like a true male and right up there with, “How many pairs of shoes do you NEED?”

The fact of the matter is, I’m slowly but surely coming to grips with the realization that I actually don’t need many shoes at all. Oh sure, I still think they can make or break an outfit, am just as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning when I rip into a box and draw in the aroma of new leather, and have been known to stop dead in my tracks to swoon over window displays in major department stores (read: Carrie Bradshaw’s “Hello lover!”). My collection no longer boasts a rainbow of hues and, in fact, a good two-thirds of it is now black. But yes, there is still a great variety. Gladiator, evening and thong sandals. Mary Janes, flip flops, sling backs, mules and skimmers. Cowboy boots, calf-huggers and ankle booties. Patent leather, snakeskin, suede and microfiber. Kitten heels and stilettos. Buckles and bows. Kenneth Cole, Via Spiga, Aerosoles, Donald J. Pliner, the Opelusos which had to be in my suitcase before I could leave Italy, and the oh-so-sexy Claudio Merazzi FMPs discovered in a vintage store in Lincoln Park, fabulous with the requisite little black dress or, quite frankly, with nothing at all!  You think I was mildly obsessed?

But, if truth be told, my most beloved footwear is no longer cruel shoes but rather cool shoes … the ever-hip Converse All Stars. They are incredibly comfy and I get compliments galore whenever I wear them. More importantly, however, when I pair them with jeans and a plain white tee, instead of transforming me into Cinderella or a fashionista, their kick-back style allows me to just be me.

Seriously? That’s all I really need to be happy.