The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

Shoe Judgment March 29, 2009

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 3:21 pm
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I would like to believe that my years of school and life experience have given me a sophisticated ability to read people, and that my first impressions are based on solid observations. The truth is that often my first impression of someone is made on their footwear. It’s not my best feature, but shoe judgments are as valid as any other method. It’s like the strength of a handshake telling you about the strength of the man behind it. I know everyone has a quality that they look for in others as a starting place to base their opinions about the new person standing before them; why not start at the feet and work up from there?

As the saying, so old that we don’t know who said it, goes, “walk a mile in their shoes before judging”. I feel that my experience with shoes allows me to make all sorts of judgments. I will be the first to admit my shallowness and say that I have made snap judgments based on shoes. Heck, I made two judgments based on shoes before 10:00 am today! I make those same snap judgments about my own shoes; my morning can hit a real boiling point when I become indecisive about which shoes to wear that day. It’s a cold sweat situation as I literally wobble with one foot in a 4 inch stiletto, one foot in a 3 inch wedge, a satin pump in one hand and my lower lip being chewed as I go through my internal dialogue about who I will be today. Will I be the smooth business woman whose heels click down the hallway, striking fear into the hearts of those who cross me? Will I be the fresh-faced summer-loving hippie in cork wedges who just wants to stroll through a street fair and buy funky pieces of art? Am I stylish bachelorette in a pair of come-and-get-me stilettos that only the most sophisticated man would approach?

It’s that unanswerable question: do the shoes make the woman or does the woman make the shoes? Each day I can be another part of the unique woman I am simply by choosing between a black pump and a black knee high boot. Before any guys roll their eyes at the challenge of a self-described chameleon of a girl, remember you want the lady that smiles sweetly at your boss’s bad jokes, tells your friend a dirtier joke during the Sunday football game, and remembers exactly how to make you smile when it’s just the two of you. No man should expect exact perfection in a woman; but when she is wearing the perfect red-satin strappy sandal, you just might forget any imperfection that does exist.

My mom once told me about a test she did when picking a name for us kids. She would say the full name as it would be announced on three occasions: scoring in a basketball game, winning an Oscar, and with the title doctor in front. I feel that way about my shoes. When putting together an outfit, I think about how the shoes will look as I causally hop over a puddle, step out of a car, or gently dangle my crossed legs at happy hour. If I get chills as I imagine any of the scenarios, then I know that they will surely pass anyone’s shoe judgment. After all, aren’t we our own harshest critic?

Call me crazy, but my shoes often give me the strength I did not know was within. The strength to stand solidly in the face of whatever challenge comes before me. Whether I am taking a strong stance at a meeting or walking out of a relationship that I did not want to see end, my insides may be crumbling but I at least I am keeping my head up, shoulders back, staying tall and strong even if its destroying me inside. Often times we walk the paths of life alone, and its good to know that, if I have take the difficult road, I am going to do it in shoes that, at the very least, show what I deserve at the end of that journey.

Amazing shoes give me the strength to walk up to that old flame who is with someone new and be in complete control. My shoe judgment will surely kick in as I smile sweetly, glance at her feet, raise a quizzical eyebrow and smirk a little. Sometimes the best shoe judgments go without saying. As shoe wisdom says, “These boots were made for walking and that’s just what they’ll do.” While the walk my not always feel great, the blisters and the pain are worth the effect as I click away. And to the naysayer, a final shoe warning about judgment: never forget what Nancy Sinatra said next, “One of these days these boots are going to walk all over you.”

 

The Duh Moment March 25, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:12 pm
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Don’t deny it! When Oprah says listen, you listen! How else can you explain that time you served mashed potatoes in a martini glass? From ‘her’ favorite things to books that we have to read so we can participate in a one-sided book club meeting with the television, Oprah says ‘listen up, people’ and we listen.

So when Oprah did one of those dark promos where large words flash across the screen, I got the message like Batman responding to the Bat signal. Oprah said it was a show I could not miss; Oprah said it is one of the most important shows she has ever done; Oprah said it affects each us. Flashes of tear-stained men and women clutching each other’s hands only re-enforces my belief that Oprah has discovered some type of bio-chemical warfare and we all better watch!

At four o’clock I am glued to my television clutching my Rosary and checkbook— just in case there is some type of protective shield I need to buy. Oprah comes on and announces in a somber tone that America has a big problem—oh crap it IS bio-chemical warfare—and Oprah is here to help us. Whoosh of relief! Our great danger, Oprah reveals, is that due to the down economy, parents now have to say ‘no’ to their children… responsive audience gasp.

What? This is it Oprah? Saying ‘no’ to kids? Girl, this better be a joke; I am getting a car! But it is not joke. Oprah has a line-up of crying parents and crying, indulged children who sit and talk about having to say ‘no’ and the latter having to hear ‘no’. Oprah is right; this may be her most shocking show. I am shocked this is a show as a sixteen-year-old breathlessly describes not getting hair highlights.

I have to say I don’t blame Oprah for the show; I blame those kids and parents who are just waking up to the reality of the “duh moment.” Yep, Oprah, it’s a lot like your “aha moment” only with a “duh” and a sarcastic eye roll. You get it when people suddenly realize that a teenager does not require a parent-funded shopping spree every weekend. Or when a mom says she is worried that if she says ‘no’ to her child they will not be like best friends—“duh” sarcastic eye roll, “you are not supposed to be best friends, you are her mother.” See the “duh moment”, catchy huh?

It does not end or begin with Oprah or the brave parents actually saying ‘no’ for the first time. Flip up to MTV—remember Music Television? Not so much these days. Now it’s a 24-hour stream of Sweet Sixteen birthdays that always open with a big entrance, a semi-famous rapper, and ends with a car or two and maybe a Rolex in the glove box. This is followed by a house full of desperate young ladies who desire not be college educated or change the world, but instead really want to be Paris Hilton’s BFF. Girls, ask yourself: where is that dog and that monkey and tell me if you want the same fate? This is followed by some other show where professional MTV reality show contestants literally wrestle each other for another 5 minutes of fame.

Want to know what’s really sad? I know it’s on this channel and chances are you do too. There is a whole army of closeted ”Hills’ fans” out there, sucking up each half- hour morsel of silent staring and shocking moments of choosing the wrong guy again and again. So here is a moment for myself and the rest of you “duh” sarcastic-eye-roll-into-a-mirror. I feed the monster that says a teenager should be flown to Paris so she can throw a temper tantrum in a couture gown. I feed the monster that says a 24 year-old design student should get her own line as her first job. I feed the monster that asks if I want another shot at love season 38.

Thankfully there appears to be a backlash. Recently those adorable teens who would have died if their dad did not get them a pink tiger for their birthday have been the subject of a new show where their parents send them to a third world country. This show not only proves that a Rolex is not an essential to survival but it also gives us a chance to enjoy a spoiled teen sobbing in a thatched hut while a teen of the same age works to save the village’s water supply. “It’s too hard, I want my mom!” Yeah, duh, it’s life. Call it “aha moment” Oprah if you want, but I enjoy it all the same.

Back on Oprah’s stage, a fifteen-year-old is applauded for cutting back her text messaging to only 1000 a month as financial sacrifice. Back at my house I have my own “aha moment” and call my parents to thank them for saying ‘no’. I was not deprived, but I was directed to the joys of earning my own income. I am tempted to call Oprah and offer to have these teenagers come live with my parents for a week. I could hear the classic parental motto now, “I’ll give you something to cry about and it won’t be an Ipod!”

 

How to Date a Shoe Girl March 22, 2009

Filed under: Love Me, Love My Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 5:11 pm
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In life everyone draws a bottom line of the minimum they will accept in almost every aspect of life. With employment it may be a benefits package. With our home it may be the square footage. With friends it’s a level of trust. As firm as that bottom line can be, the longer the wait the more compromise available. The bottom line of dating is no different. Many women have uttered it, “I wouldn’t date him if I were stranded on deserted island with him.” Few have actually had to live those words. While Key West is not a deserted island, the pickings can be very slim. Factor out the gay men, the tourists, the ones too young and the ones too old, and you are left with about 20 available men. Now sprinkle those 20 available men in amongst the thousands rejected and the bottom line ends up very blurred.

For a shoe girl it gets even more complicated. Date me, date my shoes—all 82 pairs of them. And I literally mean DATE my shoes: compliment them, remember them, and notice both the new ones and the vintage ones. Never question why I need 5 pairs of fire engine red heels, just know that I do and most likely will need more. Anyone can remember an eye color, but can he remember the black satin BCBG stilettos I wore on Christmas Eve 2006?

As God planned my height, I am on the shorter end of the line-up at 5’3”, which is good height for any man—even those with a Napoleon complex. As Nine West planned it, I can be a fabulous 5’9” with one slip of a boot. I tend to rely on my footwear to increase physical status in life; in an average week, my height fluctuates between two to six inches depending on the day. The muscles in the back of my legs have given up any hopes of consistency and I have grown use to earth shattering leg cramps that will wake me from a dead sleep. Seriously, if you attached a Richter Magnitude Scale to my legs the results would make the San Andreas Fault seem like child’s play.

As hard as dating can be for a shoe girl, I understand that it can be equally as hard to date a shoe girl. Not only do you have to live up to standards of a shoe girl herself, you also have to live up to the ideals of Manolo Blahnik as well. Some girls and shoes wait a lifetime for that perfect moment, the moment that they were made for. Doesn’t every girl dream of the day when her father and her dream shoes walk her down the aisle?

Just as I expect a date to consider my likes and dislikes, he must also consider the likes and dislikes of my shoes, I can assure you not all heels love strolls along the docks or on the cobble stones streets. To some a sunset cruise is romantic; to me it’s a red flag because clearly he thinks I own non-skid shoes—what kind of girl does he think I am?

Everyone comes with baggage, mine is fairly small—it only holds a cell phone, ID and lip-gloss. The real issue I have is the shoe-age and it is not so easy to store. One of my biggest relationship phobias is the sharing of closet space. I totally expect to have to… breathe… compromise on the closet matter in a relationship. I think if I loved him enough I would actually let him open the shoe closet without supervision. I am sure there is a man out there who can handle the shoe-age I bring into a relationship. I am not looking for a Cinderella moment; I would run back for that lost shoe myself, but it’s nice to think he would slide it back on.

Some may say it’s absurd to place such importance on shoes when dating can be hard enough without introducing an extra factor into the mix. Like a single mother who must consider how soon to introduce a new boyfriend to her children, a shoe girl must also protect her shoes with each new date. After all, a girl tries on many dates before settling on man to spend her golden years with. Before then, there must be many bad dates, break-ups and letdowns. It is good to know that at the end of the evening a shoe girl can go home, slip into some Jimmy Choos and spend the night with her shoe closet.

 

I Shoe Good March 19, 2009

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 11:57 pm
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There are two types of women in the world, those who shoe and those who don’t. Of course every woman owns some type of shoe; it is rare to see a woman roaming barefoot in modern day society. Here I refer to shoe as a verb defined as an unstoppable urge which must be acted upon immediately to buy, preserve and cherish shoes. Those who don’t shoe should just stop reading now.

If you are not sure if you shoe or not ask yourself how many shoes do you have in your closet? If your number is less than five and you are not actively dividing your inventory into categories such as heels, boots, flats, sandals and athletic but instead are thinking of piles such as black, brown, blue and house slipper…you do not shoe.

However if your still debating whether you should start with designers and now are imagining a whole organization system for your shoe closet…you shoe! You shoe so good you when asked your shoe size you respond with “doesn’t matter, I will get my feet in there!” You shoe so good, you have photos of every pair stored in a fire proof box at a local bank for insurance maters. Right now just the thought of shoes makes your arches long for the feel of a six inch Italian made stiletto. Oh baby you shoe good!

I like to think that I shoe pretty good myself all things considered. See I am an Island Shoe Girl, a transplant from land of malls and weekend sales. A hard day at work or a horrific final term paper in grad school sent me straight to my comfort zone, shoe stores. My life has roughly three loves; my family, helping others and shoes. My job brought me to Key West, Fl where I work as a case manager at homeless shelter- for the record I love this job and the island it has brought me to. I love my family, but distance is nothing new as my brothers have also branched out across the East Coast. But it’s a struggle living over 140 miles away from the continental United States and a Neiman Marcus shoe department.

These days the best I can hope is that a pair of Calvin Klein pumps work their way into our local re-sale warehouse, nothing sadder then a designer heel with the tell tale sign of warehouse sales, the re-sale black mark across the bottom. So when you casually cross your legs the whole world knows those shoes came without a box. The price is almost always a steal and easies the pain of not having the shoe buying experience that would generally come along with a designer label.

Yes there is the online dating version of shoe shopping through name brand websites and eBay. Yes, I have had some success in these avenues but much like the commercials promoting endless love with only a few clicks you know it’s never as good of story as when it happens in person.

But it is hard to get the perfect job, the perfect family connection and the perfect shoes all in one locale that does not permit snow. So yes, I shop the re-sale warehouse and internet. Thankfully after a year and half of being without a “shoe store” other then Payless, a Nine West Factory store opened, this eased the pain a little. While anxiously awaiting their opening I would press my face against the store front windows like a child trying to peak into Santa’s Workshop to see what delights may be arriving.

To be fair there are “other” shoe stores, the previously mentioned Payless, an athletic shoe store and numerous flip flop and sandals including the dreaded blob of plastic – Crocs. While I am sure that there is nothing wrong with the shoes sold at these outlets they are just not for me. Like the perfect on paper guy there is no thrill.

I can never walk away from a good deal on shoes or an average deal…let’s be honest you have to drag me away kicking and screaming from any shoes even full price. Which makes the trips to real malls and real shoe stores outside of the Florida Keys all the more dangerous. Especially when your friend providing the voice of reason wears the same size and whispers “do it” behind your shoulder, if my guardian angle does have a voice it is muffled by her shrieks of joy at seeing a Manolo Blanhik strappy heel on the clearance rack. Choirs from the Heavens belt out the chorus of “Rich Girl” by Gwen Stefani while I add up all the good deeds I did to earn…no wait deserve these shoes. In my head I am strutting past all of those K-mart flip flop wearing fools as they part like the Sea before Mosses all eyes glued to fine craftsmanship tied to my ankles. The next thing I know plastic is flying at the cashier and my toes are curling with delight. I have to fight the urge to scream “Yes, I shoe, I shoe good!”

The car ride home is a long four hours over bridges and little islands that make up the Florida Keys. I am going over in my head how to cut corners to afford the shoes practically baby seated in the back seat. First, plan- stop eating. Second, plan- pick up some extra shifts at the second job you already have to pay for your shoe addiction. Third plan- no more shoes shopping until these are paid off. Those plans will remain in place until I retrieve my Marie Claire from the mailbox. As I place my new shoes in a special glass protective case I notice the cover headline raving about a new chunky ankle boot by Gucci. Suddenly, Fergie’s Clumsy comes on the radio of my mind. “The girl can’t help, she just help it. She’s back in love!” And I am.

I shoe, I shoe real good.

 

 
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