Her Reign of Terror Must End
Some shoes announce themselves, they demand your attention: “These is red bottoms, these is bloody shoes.” Some shoes are flatly utilitarian, plain but not boring, simple, understated. (Take, for example, these Taylor Swift loafers that I cannot stop thinking about. They look uncomplicated but in a way that is just more pleasing to the eye than a regular penny loafer. These shoes say: He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain / He wanted a bride, I was making my own name / Chasing that fame, he stayed the same) I do not have the emotional constitution to wear stilettos; they inspire a physical pain and a psychological steeliness. And then there is this shoe, which appears to be the only style of shoe on the market today: a 2-inch chunky heel, with two slender straps across the feet. Or as someone called them on Twitter, “If twist your ankle was a shoe.”
These are the defacto shoes of bridesmaids, college graduations, wedding guests, family events where you say something your aunt willfully misunderstands, stepsisters, and events where a three to four Aritzia blazers are within a 12 foot range. These shoes say “dog mom.” They say “Live Laugh Love” but they also say “I’m just here so I don’t get fined.” This wearer of this shoe has a fire engine red pedicure. (“No thanks Ms. Gladys”) This shoe also overindexes on the “willing to go back and forth with a manager” scale.
A shoe is a decision, except for this shoe, which is the physical manifestation of a non-decision.
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