By Cindy Phillips
updated
Wed, Apr 4, 2012 09:19 AM
I went shoe shopping today. Well, let me rephrase that. I
attempted to go shoe shopping today. Similar to jeans shopping, I
have a difficult time finding the right fit, and the right height,
and the right style, and shall I go on?
Much like the length of women's skirts, the height of heels has
seen more ups and downs than the Coney Island roller coaster. I've
never been a fashionista, but I champion those who change up their
wardrobe each season with the latest and greatest. It's out with
the old and with the new colors, lengths, patterns and heel
heights.
So as I wandered the enormous aisles of the local shoe store, I
knew I would see some styles that didn't tickle my fancy. No
problem, I would swim past those and wade into more comfortable
territory - like the area where they keep the Aerosoles and
Naturalizers. A five-year bout with plantar fasciitis will do that
to you.
But sometimes the best laid plans simply go awry, and like the
overwhelming magnetic force that draws our eyes to an accident, I
found myself hypnotized by the brightly-colored, polka-dotted,
strappy, shiny, sexy shoes that were strategically placed right at
the front entrance. And as I moved in to get a closer look, I found
myself gasping and shouting out loud, "How the heck could anyone
walk in these things." I mean I have seen high heels in my day,
four-inchers that made my ankles hurt just looking at them. But
these heels are platformed and the heel has got to be approaching
seven or eight inches. And it's not a thick heel with
substance, it's the skinny, spikey heel that sinks into the ground
if you try to walk on grass. I know I have reached that age when we
tend to anticipate what can go wrong more then what can go right.
But, I know I am not exaggerating when I say that wearing these
shoes can only result in a horrible ankle sprain or other
foot-related injury. They simply are not designed for the human
anatomy. Just how much higher off the ground do we need to
go?
My earliest shoe memories are of grammar school. We wore a uniform
and shoes were a part of the ensemble. The first few grades it was
saddle shoes, so you needed to know how to tie a shoe lace. If your
laces kept coming undone, mom would teach you the double-knot trick
to keep them in place. By the sixth grade, we had graduated to
penny loafers, only for some reason we were prohibited from putting
pennies in them. I am still not sure of the logic behind
that.
The minute you got home from school, you took off your "good" shoes
and slipped into sneakers. Keds were the cool sneakers, but most of
us wore more affordable knock-offs and store brands. My best
friend's mother worked at a local department store and got an
employee discount. Diane was always wearing funky sneakers in weird
colors, like neon yellow, as her mom scoured through the clearance
bins for bargains. You always knew when someone got a new pair of
sneakers because for the first week, they were bright white,
eye-blinding white, until you got them broken in. When they got too
dingy, you would coat them in sponge-on shoe polish to make them
white again, though they never looked like they did when new. Some
moms believed in throwing sneakers into the washing machine to
bring them back to life. Trying to put on a pair of sneakers that
came out of the dryer was not easy. They were tight and misshapen
until you could stretch them out with a few wearings.
Today, flip-flops are probably the most common shoe worn, but back
in the day they were only worn to the beach. In fact, they were
called beach shoes. I never wore flip-flops as a kid. My toes
simply could not acclimate to that rubber stem between them. Of
course flip-flops back then were about fifty cents a pair and not
particularly comfortable or fashionable. So I wasn't missing out on
much.
Twice a year, I would get a new pair of Sunday shoes, or church
shoes. In the spring, or right before Easter, I got a pair of white
patent leather Mary Janes. In the winter, or right before
Christmas, I got a black pair. As I approached my teen years, the
cool thing was to put the strap behind the heel instead of over the
top of your foot.
I don't remember the first time I wore a pair of heels, but it may
have been to the prom. They were borrowed from my sister since I
only needed them for one night. I must admit I felt pretty special
in those shoes, along with my panty hose. Little did I know back
then that someday I would make a pact with myself to never wear
panty hose again.
When I went off to college, I brought two pair of platform sandals.
They were exactly the same, one was a backup pair. Flesh-colored
leather straps criss-crossed over the top of the foot while a strap
went around the ankle and buckled. But the platform was the same
height across the entire shoe, so there was no undue pressure on
the foot like when wearing high heels. I want those shoes back to
wear today. Heaven knows, along with the panty hose ban, those
crazy high, high heels out there today will never be seen on this
Boomer body. I simply don't need to get any higher. Boom
shakalakalaka, boom shakalaka.
Tagged:
Boomers, shoes, high heels
