Fashion Misfit: The trouble with shoes

In the next instalment of her stylistic misadventures, Diane Shipley, fashion misfit and co-editor of our sister site Trashionista, writes…

I can’t wear shoes.

Okay, I know how silly that sounds, and it’s not quite true: I can wear shoes. I just can’t wear Shoes. Big-girl shoes, grown-up stuff, from Jimmy Choo to Dune to Dolcis (do they still have Dolcis?) – if it has more than a one-inch heel and a pointy toe, count me out.

The irony is that I love them. No, I mean I looooooooooooooove shoes. To look at, that is. I love them so much I could almost be a foot fetishist, except other people's feet gross me out. I’ve even considered buying particularly spectacular pairs of footwear as works of art… or maybe I could just carry them around on a small throne, showing everyone what great taste I have.

But wearing them? That’s where things get tricky.

I don’t know if it’s because I’ve spent a lot of time indoors wearing slippers (the glam life of a freelance writer, eh?), but my always wide feet seem to have spread ever-wider and they don’t take kindly to being squashed into anything more restrictive than my favourite red trainers (favourite because they’re pretty much it for my shoe collection these days).

I don’t know if you know this, but it’s possible for a person’s calves to grow so big that said person can no longer fit into their favourite Kookai square-toed, knee-length, three-inch heel boots. It’s definitely time to lose weight when even your boots don’t fit! Even worse, I actually have that veteran high-heel wearer’s curse, a bunion.
Shouldn’t I at least have some gorgeous heel-wearing memories if I have to be deformed like this? I clearly just have bad foot karma.

I wasn’t always this way – I used to be able to wear the shoes I loved, although the shoes I loved as a teenager tended to be clumpy loafers. Gradually, I trained my reluctant feet to cope with high-heeled loafers and sturdy boots with heels ranging from two to four inches. I didn’t think ‘proper’ heels would be a problem. And my first pair weren’t. A late bloomer, at nineteen I finally succuumbed to a bargainous pair of blocky, high heeled sandals in black satin from a Florida mall. They saw me through every vaguely posh night out for years, so I thought proper stilettos would be no problem… but no. My feet can just about squish into them, but then I’m in agony and walking is a hit and miss business. I now understand why the Chinese bound women’s feet for years as a way to keep them passive and subjugated – if you can’t walk fast, you’re pretty much done for. Last year my friend got married, and I borrowed a pair of shoes – from Clark’s, with a closed toe, a strap, and only a two-inch heel, they seemed manageable. Yet after standing for an hour at the ‘Champagne reception’, I could no longer feel anything below the calves, and spent the meal afterwards in my pop-socked feet, soles burning.

Part of me blames my mother for being so darn sensible and thinking about my feet in later life. Why was she putting me in sensible T-bar creations when I was little, instead of training me up to wear ever higher and prettier heels? A bigger part of me blames mother nature, or my genes, for these stinking (not literally!) flat feet that mean not only can I never be a ballet dancer (because that is the only reason) but I can’t wear a decent pair of shoes. Maybe if I was slender and willowy, it wouldn’t matter, but I’m short and curvy (heavy on the hips) – in other words, the kind of build high heels make look good. When I used to be able to squeeze into my beloved boots, the confidence boost was amazing. Sure, my shins ached for two days afterwards, but it was worth it (and I’d never normally put looking good before comfort, so you understand how serious I am about the importance of a little heel height).

So except for my trainers, and my brilliant Ugg-style slippers (John Lewis do the best) I’ve given up on shoes, for now. At least no matter what else goes wrong with my life, I can always wear bags.

Lovely gorgeous bags. (Please God let my shoulders hold out!)

Diane is actually feeling a twinge in her shoulder now you come to mention it...

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Posted by Diane Shipley on May 3, 2007 3:31 PM in Columns & Opinions
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