It all began when Cinderella lost one of her glass slippers on the steps of the palace, with Prince Charming in hot pursuit. The Prince pocketed the slipper, vowing to find and marry the maiden to whom it belonged. Women from all over town flocked to try on the glass slipper, each hoping it would secure her own Happily Ever After.
Shoe fanatics claim that shoes bring them joy. I found this amusing because I didn't share or understand their shoe enthusiasm. My older sister had a penchant for outrageously high stilettos and provided me with a vast collection of shoes to wear. I didn't need to shop for shoes because my sister was my generous supplier, trying to convert me to her passion. While I appreciated shoes like any other article of clothing, I didn't love them. I blamed shoes for making women status-conscious, superficial, and fiscally irresponsible. Have you noticed how shoe-crazy women are often portrayed as heroines in Hollywood shows and movies?
For years, I wore my sister's stunning shoes without a care for their brands or origins. My interest was minimal because I had no attachment to what adorned my feet. Luckily, my sister had expensive taste, and I received compliments every time I stepped out in her stilettos. Strangers often stopped me on the streets to inquire about *my* shoes, and I always redirected the credit to my sister. I became the envy of all my friends because I had an endless supply of fabulous shoes. A couple of years ago, my sister moved overseas, but on her visits back home, she'd bring new additions to her shoe family.
Before her last visit, she sent a warning: her shoes had better be in their correct boxes, not scattered all over my room. Upon her return, she was horrified to find a dozen of her shoes damaged. She took them in for emergency repair, and the cobbler joked if someone had run over her "children" because of their condition. I have no idea how it happened, but I likely damaged the shoes unintentionally. I'm guilty of dragging my feet and taking heavy steps, and perhaps hopping onto park benches on my way to and from work contributed. Shockingly, my shoe supply ceased. My sister cut me off, tired of buying new shoes for me, only to see them destroyed one heel at a time. It pains my sister deeply when her shoes get scratched, scarring them for the rest of her life.
I managed fine without new shoes, content with the three pairs I adored from her last visit. But after a few months, things changed. While sitting innocently on the train, I glanced down at my feet and noticed scratches on my pretty Mary Janes. Those scratches weren't there yesterday, or were they? I looked away, but the ache in my chest lingered.
Oh. My. Gosh. I had fallen in love with shoes.
It was a slow and steady descent. In hindsight, I was in denial. Wearing nice shoes always made me feel good, yet I avoided the commitment of purchasing and caring for them. To make up for lost time, I bought four pairs of stilettos in one week. Whether you're a fan of SATC or not, you have to admit that Carrie Bradshaw has brought our inner shoe-obsessed selves out of the closet and into the mainstream. We just need to set ourselves a budget to control our infatuation.
Modern women have given up trying to squeeze into the glass slipper, realising that even if the shoe doesn't fit, happiness can still be found in the nearest shoe boutique, offering different shapes, colours, and sizes. I believe women love shoes because finding not only a pair, but the right pair that fits perfectly, provides a defining sense of self and independence, reminding us that we now have choices.