Shiny brings out the magpie in all of us.
Now, for an origin story. It would be pretty whiz-bang super if a bite from a radioactive heel or a doomed planet of platforms spawned my fondness, nay – lust – for fancy footwear, but I’ve detected the two sources of the sole searching springs.
Exibit A. The Wizard of Oz. I divulged in a previous post my proclivity for Oz viewings and frankly have yet to see a story since Cinderella to center around the all powerful shoe. Hell, it was an all out melt-tacular fireball half-you-go-this-way-half-you-go-that-way throw down for the righteous sparklage. There it is in sepia tone and color ladies and gentlemen, the first girl fight over shoes, caught on film.
Exhibit B. My Gram. Besides being stylishly unforgettable and my favorite person on the planet, my Gram had a collection of shoes that would make Carrie Bradshaw choke on her Blahniks. Like myself, my Gram was vertically challenged, but she could rock the highest stiletto and did so every Sunday to church. She had closets (yes, plural) of shoes: pumps, skyscrapers, wedges, espadrilles, suede shoes, leather shoes, old shoes, new shoes, shoes with the tags still on, shoes the completly wrong size just because she thought they were beautiful and had to have them. I would go into those closets as a little girl and try on every pair I could reach, tromping around their house and PRAYING that my feet would one day be big enough to wear her cast offs. Unfortunately, the Foot Fates ceased my growth exactly one shoe size down from her glorious closets of size sevens, but I’ve kept her stunners as sculpture, a testament to her awesome style and influnce. And, I’m not beyond stuffing a half box of kleenex in the toes so I can walk in her shoes again.
Clearly, I have some fodder for shoespirations, don’t touch that dial because I’ve got a whole list of ideas I’m making into shoe art