From Imelda Marcos to Carrie Bradshaw, women all over the world seem to have an dubious obsession with shoes. Commentator Hanna Klingberg is one of the worst.
There’s this gorgeous pair of pumps I’ve had my eye on for months. They’re bright red suede leather with a three and a half inch heel. And they’re really expensive. But I want them. I love them. Because I. Love. Shoes.
My first love was a pair of pale yellow lace-up sneakers. I was three years old. And they were the coolest shoes ever. The right one had this little pocket on the side, just large enough for a money – I didn’t have any money – I just knew that if I ever got hold of some big money, I could keep it in my shoe. But that day never came. Because my precious, yellow sneakers were suddenly shorter than my feet. I remember waving a teary-eyed goodbye to them as my mom unceremoniously shoved them in the evil give-away bag. And I swore I would not let my feet grow another inch. So today… I wear a size ten.
As a teenager I hated buying clothes. Back then H&M was all the rage. I remember going to the mall with my friends for the launch of their youth collection. I was fourteen, both in age and size. But the collection, appropriately named Divided, capped at size 12. There I was, too fat for fashion – they should put that on a size 14 t-shirt – and so I turned to shoes. Because the shoes always fit.
Actually, that’s a size 14 lie. The shoes would have fit if I had bought the right ones. But somehow I always end up with shoes that are half a size too small. Like the boots I bought on my school trip in the tenth grade. Man, they were… Let’s just say they were the epitome of Y2K fashion: Long, black and shiny with a clunky three-inch heel, and made from a material so synthetic I’m lucky they didn’t spontaneously combust. But I loved those boots. And I wore them with pride. For about five minutes. And then with excruciating agony for the next five hours. I was at a garden party. My friends played boccia. I sat on a bench. My friends danced. I sat on a bench. But in the end I had to get up, and with no buses around and no money for a cab, I had to walk the one mile home. And so I did. In my pantyhose. Blisters 1, pride 0. BTW, do you know how much broken glass there is on the sidewalk? I do.
You’d think that episode would have taught me something. But I still manage to buy shoes that are half a size too small. However, my feet have shrunk. Because I’ve lost weight. In fact, I’m a size twelve now. And the other day, I went to H&M and tried on a dress from their youth collection. And it fit! But I didn’t buy it. I couldn’t. ‘Cause I just spent a big money on a pair of red pumps.
Hanna Klingberg says her long black uncomfortable boots ended up in a not so-evil give-away bag.