What do you want to be when you grow up? Well here’s something: we never grow up, not really. I know that I want to be a writer, mainly because I’m trying to find the balls to learn to say what I think. I wanted to be a writer before I came to university so I started writing a blog on my gap year which I have since re-read, cringed at and deleted. There was one piece which caught my eye that I thought might give a better insight into my thoughts and writing than any generic “First Column” I could churn out in a hope of impressing you. In future I will plan my time more wisely, well that’s not true but I will endeavour to come up with proper topics.
Shoes? Shoes are much better to write about than men.
Shoes rarely let me down. For one thing I can control them, I look after them, in fact I keep each pair in its original box (a little OCD but with the cost, can you blame me?) They stay where I put them, and they complement the dress I put them with.
Given that, I’m never satisfied with just one pair of shoes. There has to be a different pair for each outfit, I like variety. They don’t all go with all my clothes, but I guess this is what every woman is looking for, the pair that go with everything.
That pair, if they broke, you’d buy a new pair right? You’d be prepared to pay anything for them, and to fit into any size, because they go with everything, they fit around your lifestyle. This is also the ideal husband, he would be able to come to every occasion with you, get on with your friends and family; however old, bitchy or snotty they are.
Shoes can be very unreliable, like men. Heels snap, men snap, but you can take shoes back for a refund, providing you have the receipt. The store assistant will apologize for the lack of quality of the shoe (two pairs of Topshop boots in a row, N.Y.E. circa 2009), and happily refund you or give you another pair. What do you get when men snap? Barked at, stormed out on and stood up.
Then there’s the situation where you find a brilliant pair of shoes. Perfect colour, style and height:
“Do you have them in a size 5?”
“Sorry, that’s the most common/popular size love, you could try Selfridges…”
But I wanted Cavali. They were sold out. Where did all the god-like men go? Are they sold out too? Sold to their boyfriends, older women and wives? I know that there are fewer men than women in the world but the rarity of a brilliant pair of shoes is so hard to find, it’s practically exquisite.
There are dozens of cheap shoes; ill-made and bad-fitting. They’ll chat you up in pubs and clubs, buy you a couple of Cosmos, if only to take them back again when they realize you’re not going to give them a quick “go” in the toilets (N.Y.E. 2010). These shoes sit in the window of high street stores, smelling of plastic; as strong as the typical overload of aftershave.
”I’m just seeing him”. They’re not together. It’s the equivalent of window shopping. She’s waiting to see if she finds a better pair. Bet you anything she’ll find them and they either won’t have them in her size, or he’ll have run off with a busty redhead.
I have a problem with “seeing”. “Seeing” for women, mostly means buying. For men it means renting. In the retail world there’s a large difference here, if you rent, you pay less and you have to return the goods in working order, undamaged. If you buy, you pay more, it’s for keeps and you work this item until it’s so broken it cannot be fixed. If it works with you, you can keep it forever.
The modern man; if he’s “seeing you”, he isn’t buying. If it’s for keeps, he’ll want to make you his from the beginning right? It’s simply aesthetics, it looks better to a woman if he says he wants to see you, than if he were to say
“Understand darling, I just want to have my way with you for a couple of weeks then bugger off, alright?”
Unfortunately there’s no 3 year guarantee, there’s no receipt and definitely no credit; as shown by the awkward situation when you just want some fun and he decides he’s buying. When the penny drops he’ll call you a slut to the rest of the world, when all you did was try on a pair of shoes that didn’t fit, enjoyed how they looked anyway and looked for a more sensible pair.
You may love your heels for nights out, but you won’t marry them.