NATASHA CUCULLO '15
If a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around to hear it, did it really fall? While we contemplate the meaning of life and all that goes along with it, why don’t we look at some material items in the context of this inquiry as well? Like shoez.
Today I set out on breaking in my new (well, not new, I got them in July) but fall-appropriate, supz-cool platform-type oxfords (read: flatforms or “creepers”). Now, although I purchased this fine pair of shoes over the summer and because I had yet to officially wear them in, today was “tuff”. Not tuff in an “OMG I can’t even,” basic beezy type of tuff, but the kind of tragedy that goes along with breaking in a new pair of shoes: blisters. Although Style.com happily informs us that “flatforms combine the height of a stiletto with the ease of a sneaker, which makes them winners in our book” (LOTD, Emily Farra), I beg to differ—for the time being. Emily, my friend, you are a liar; once you actually break in flatforms they provide the ease of a sneaker, but Style.com cleverly leaves out the fact that the skin between your bone and your shoe becomes the hot spot for your new shoe break-in woes. Blisters are an understated, under-the-radar type of injury, but sometimes, these little buggers can be the most excruciating. Blisters are comparable to a paper cut—but more like one that has been reopened 40 times because the damn piece of paper is attached to your damn hand and what is even happening all you wanted to do was to pick up your 74 sheets of reading from the Olin printers. But, unlike paper cuts, which take you by surprise, blisters develop slowly: a conscious reminder that you knew the cost of sticking your feet into those shoes for the day. The only way to end the pain is to continually subject yourself to it; you must keep walking to stop. Goddamn, gurl, what was going through your head when you put on those shoez this morning?
After trekking from Junior Village to 285 Court Street, back to Fisk, taking a pit-stop at Weshop, and then ending up back at my Lorise, I could feel my feet cramping as a result of walking on the outside of my soles (to prevent any unnecessary movement), but on the upside, I could feel my shoes expanding, ever so slightly. Nevertheless, a baby bump was forming on the back of my ankle. But I kept on trucking. I made a commitment and was dedicated to the cause.
Now, if I ask the question again (the tree one, ppl, but replace “tree” with “shoe”): If you wear an amazing pair of shoes, which crushes the game, but kills your ankles, was it worth it? Sure, you look amaze, but are dealing with blisters for a week after really “what dreams are made of?” (I don’t think this is what Lizzie McGuire was referring to, but I digress). Should you succumb to the pain and switch shoes, thereby potentially compromising your outfit? Or deal with the pain, which would thereby make said shoes easier to walk in the next time (though you still may not be blister-free?) I mean, you bought those shoes for a reason; they were not meant to sit in your closet. Why did you buy them in the first place? I know, I know; we’re really delving into a huge existential debate here, ppl.
Limping like Popeye for the rest of the evening, after my blisters became a force to be reckoned with, I started running mah mouth (complaining about my poor bby ankles). I met up with my friend, who complimented me on my shoes, but after hearing me complain for two blocks that my feet were falling off, told me that “it wasn’t worth it.” I ignored him, and the pain, and focused on walking like a human.
My friend, like many strangers passing by, clearly did not understand my passion for the cause. I made my bed and chose to lie in it. I subjected myself to a painful day of walking like Popeye because, besides the blisters, my shoes killed the game. Sure, my ankles hurt like a bitch today, and sure, I am icing my blisters as I write this; but today, I made a choice to commit and followed through with my decision for the future possibilities of the outfit (this is the cause, ppl). Although I have other shoes that would have been less tragique, I am able to wear the same outfit (a bell-sleeved dress with a faux fur vest + my oxfordz) with a different pair of shoes, thus making an entirely new ensemble (bell-sleeved dress with a faux fur vest + lace-up ballet flats/fall booties/Supergas/Converse/Timberlandz) for another day another dawn. The possibilities are endless. And that, my friends, is the power of a pair of shoes. Blisterz and all.