Biting the feet that extended an autobid for them
Yesterday morning we welcomed the newest members of our Shoe Family, the Alexander McQueen for Pumas. Admittedly, they weren’t my first choice as far as McQueen footwear goes – lets just say it’s a good thing I had no way of sourcing a couple of grand in a hurry on 11 February this year. I justified them on three main points: 1. I don’t have any tan/nude shoes and I’d been flirting with the idea of something brogue-ish, 2. I have very few pairs of flat shoes, and one would think they’d be practical and such, and 3. A DESIGN GENIUS IS GONE FOREVER, HOW CAN YOU THINK OF WORLDLY THINGS LIKE PAYING THE BILLS AND FOOD AT A TIME LIKE THIS?
Unfortunately, I let it slip my mind that they came from the tradition of a designer famous for having no compunctions about torturing women’s bodies in order to achieve his artistic vision. Also, that you should always break in new shoes AT HOME FIRST. Lulled by a false sense of sneakers, I slipped them on right away – sans socks – and headed into town to have caffeine with my friend Alice.
By the time the long black arrived, I had blisters like lush grapes forming on my heels. The chick on Trade Me who I engaged with in a protracted bidding war over these has certainly been avenged.
It doesn’t help that Alice, former flatmate and a bit of a design sensation herself, is one of those maddeningly style-capable women that always looks amazing and effortless. She’s also the only person I know who refers to Glassons as “The House of G”. Just one of the many many reason I will love her forever – the others including a history of superb life stories (harshly critique a whole class of final year interior architecture students, then hand her a drink. Go on, I dare you.) and the fact that only she truly understands why certain citrus fruits are rife with lesbian sexual innuendo.
By the time we parted ways on Cuba Street, I was in pain that I could only hope to channel into some form of artistic expression, à la this amazing post by the incomparable Luxirare. Fortunately, I came across an impromptu circus…
And they were all barefoot and camera-friendly, so I slipped the shoes off and fit right in.
I then scrounged up a ride, and my blisters, my McPumas and I waited patiently in the park.
One day, we’ll be friends again.