I had been coveting a glorious pair of shoes for a very, very long time. Like, a year long time. This isn’t really like me because I’m a see it / buy it type of person, but there was something about this certain pair of shoes that just sort of held me back.
Well, as you can easily see from the past tense above, I finally did buy these glorious shoes – at Barney’s, in New York amidst the “ooh’s, aah’s” and “we’re going to kill you if you don’t buy those shoes” of my best gals, with that blasted monumental birthday looming (wow, my life is such a cliché) – and, what can I say: Holy Fuck I Love My Shoes.
Look, I don’t trot out the Holy Fuck for just anything so trust me when I tell you that these shoes are just IT. They’re not crazy styles, they’re almost sensible. Heh, that’s funny. They are black and shiny and sexy and super high and sleek and, in three words, because I could go on forever, Red Soled Perfection. I would sleep in these shoes if I wasn’t worried about my sheets. Now, your sheets on the other hand … AH ! See! See what these shoes have done!? Who says stuff like that ?!
Anyway, what I love best about these shoes (aside from all the above AND what they do to my calves) is how at once they make me feel all sorts of smart and stupid. Smart for having carved out a little life for myself where I can drop some serious coin on a pair of shoes without a struggle, and stupid because regardless of this nice little living, I dropped some pretty ridiculous coin on a pair of shoes. Is this not a perfect dichotomy? My shoulder perched angel and devil are in continual conversation and they are both absolutely right – I am sometimes smart. And I am often quite stupid.
Told you: Red Soled Perfection.
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