The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

The Truth About Pain June 28, 2009

Filed under: Love Me, Love My Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 12:56 pm
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I got that funny old feeling last weekend; actually, there were two funny old feelings and, in truth, neither of them were really “funny”.  In reality they were more along the lines of pain: one in my foot and the other in a figurative sense when I ran into an ex.  While both caused me discomfort, the first is still cramping my style because I am now sporting a walking cast on a foot normally dedicated to designer names. 

 First things first, why am I lop-sided and hobbling like a wounded runway model?  The direct cause is the broken big toe on my right foot, which actually has agitated the surgical screw from my toe surgery 10 years ago.  (Yes, I actually needed corrective toe surgery to continue my love affair with shoes.)  When and how I broke the toe this time is still a mystery since my feet usually hurt from the daily abuse of stilettos.  Thus, I cannot exactly pinpoint the break, and honestly, I was not all that eager to explore why my surgically enhanced toe was hurting again. 

After two weeks of increasing toe pain, I decided that it might be time for medical attention to determine what the heck was going on.  Waiting until Monday meant another weekend shift as the restaurant ‘hostess with the mostess’ including the most-ess toe pain.   Even with my feet in Michael Kors’ wedge tennis shoes, my attitude was less than charming by the end of my shift.  But I was thrilled to be having dinner and drinks out with some friends, and so I stuck my damaged foot into the cutest Steve Madden open-toe heels and began the night with a little wince here and there.  

Halfway through my second glass of wine, another kind of pain showed up.  If I have said it once, I have said it a hundred times: Dating on an island can create a figurative landmine of exs.  A recent one strolled up to the table, and suddenly excruciating toe pain seemed a preferred feeling over the uncomfortable tension of having to talk to him as if we were old friends who had lost touch.  I have never been so grateful for a well-timed text message as the one I received at that moment!  Of course I would have been grateful for a phone call saying my car was being repossessed if it meant something to distract me from the unfolding awkwardness.

There was no ping of love lost or a funny feeling in my stomach from one last butterfly fluttering.  No, none of that.  There was the pain of me clenching my jaw to keep from yelling, “Do you remember what you did?  Are you so ignorant to think that was okay?”  Thank God for my very pregnant friend who drew the focus onto herself with a perfectly timed rub on her belly and said, “Oh Baby!”  Later, when he had the nerve to send over a glass of wine, she advised me to do three shots when I got home so I would just pass out.  You are going to be the best mom!

I would be lying to say the only thing that kept me awake that night was a throbbing toe.  I wasn’t tossing and turning because I missed him; I was restless because I knew I wasted my time by being hurt by him to begin with and then by thinking he might come to the realization of how thoughtless he had really been. 

Come Monday morning the news at Urgent Care was that I probably should spend more time thinking about good medical care than this summer’s new sandal styles.  I was being sent to a podiatrist—never a good sign for a shoe girl.  With one more day of shoe freedom ahead, every step I took reminded me that going to the doctor was the right decision.  Despite that fact that I now write this with one foot in a Nine West heel and one foot in a Maxtrax walking boot, I know I had to face the situation in order to deal with the pain.  The next six weeks might leave me lop-sided as I try to keep at least one foot in style, but I also know I need to resolve the injury in order to face a brighter shoe future. 

Much like this less-than-shapely boot, I also have to face that “after it’s over” run-in with a grin-and-bear it attitude.  I know any feelings I had for him are in the past (as I hope this boot soon will be) and that dealing with the annoyance and pain of seeing him is just part of getting better.  Any pain generally means damage has been done, but it doesn’t mean the damage cannot be repaired.  A broken toe can leave the foot weak, but if it is allowed to recover, it ends up stronger in the long run.  I think the same thing can be said about a broken heart.  It may ache a little at the time but given the chance to heal, it will be back in working fashion soon enough. 

For now these awesome Betsy Johnson Wedges will have to wait on the sidelines for my toe to heal. Photo by Jean Thronton

For now these awesome Betsy Johnson Wedges will have to wait on the sidelines for my toe to heal. Photo by Jean Thornton

 

Trendy Orphan Babies at Kitson! June 21, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:40 am
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These exotic Michael Kors were adopted from a mall and are now part of my shoe home. Photo by Jean Thronton

These exotic Michael Kors were adopted from a mall and are now part of my shoe home. Photo by Jean Thornton

On a Sunday afternoon there is nothing I enjoy more than sitting with front door open, letting the Florida sunshine in while I check on my favorite website…UPS package tracking.  Nothing is more exciting than watching my new Calvin Klein clutch travel across country to my doorstep.  By the time this blog is posted I will be dangling that tiny treasure off my wrist as I bike to a local watering spot.  But once I have cyber stalked all my incoming purchases I take a moment to check out what is happening in the world outside of Key West.  Of course I go straight to ‘the’ sources—People, Star, Us Weekly—for all the latest information. 

The latest headline seems like a repeat, however, “Insert Celebrity Name Here Adopting Orphan Baby from Insert Third World Country Here”.  Celebrity adoption has been trendy ever since the Pharaohs’ daughter plucked Moses out of the Nile River and took him home to a life of luxury.  Since then celebrities seeking the definitive statement in humanitarianism have been plucking babies out of third world orphanages left and right.  I want to believe that the sentiment is true and really is an honest declaration of love for a child who has been cast into a difficult life.  But I cannot help but wonder if these fast-tracked adoptions are really the equivalent of a celebrity wearing an AIDS ribbon to a star-studded award show in the 90s.  Are these well-meaning celebs really just saying, “Hey, look at me lending my name to this cause by having my Nanny raise this orphan for me!”

Are we only steps away from a trendy Orphanage on Robertson Boulevard?  Will I someday be able to pick up a pair of gladiator sandals at Kitson while placing my order for an orphan from Malawi and waiting for my table at The Ivy?  Like I would be able to afford a baby from Robertson Boulevard!  Call me crazy but isn’t adopting a child essentially the equivalent of having one minus the labor pains and cravings?  Yet, at times it seems that Celebrity Adoption is more so the equivalent of an image reinvention, done more to “raise awareness” than to complete a family. 

I realize that this sounds horribly harsh to say, but I question the validity of celebrity adoptions.  I am huge supporter of adoption and definitely see the need to help the many children in our country and beyond who are in desperate need for appropriate care.  My own family is blended with both adopted and biological children.  The pieces of our family blend together to make as normal a family as possible.  Considering what a normal family is these days, I can say all of us children are equally crazy.  But adopting a child from a country that does not allow outside adoption or creating a menagerie of poor children of the world… remember when Heidi and Spencer said they wanted to do this?  It was crazy then, and it’s crazy now when an A-list celebrity attempts it. 

Trust me when I say adoption is wonderful, but it has to be done for the right reason.  A child is never a solution or a missing link to a greater connection.   A child can strengthen the values in our life, but it shouldn’t be used to promote those values to others.  Children are real live breathing things that will one day speak and express their own emotions and thoughts.  No parent—biological or adopted—should use their child as an extension of their political views or to spotlight a cause.  I have to give credit to Oprah on this one for undergoing the difficult task of providing a school for many despite the numerous difficulties and criticisms this has brought her. 

There have been many successful celebrity adoptions done in privacy and with the level of respect that the process of building a family deserves. I applaud these parents as much as the applaud the A-List star who lessens their workload and selects projects close to a stable home for their children.  These are the true sacrifices of being a parent, putting the needs of the child over their own.   To the next Hollywood star, who publicly pleas for privacy while announcing their desire to use their “good name” to draw attention to children in need: I ask you to consider the scenario of pictures of you giving birth printed in the tabloids… what’s the difference in you ushering a newly-adopted child through a storm of paparazzi out of an orphanage?  Remember, a real live baby goes with that Louis Vuitton baby bag, so there is also a good chance that baby spit will have to match your outfit too.

 

Hitting the Edit Button June 14, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 11:56 am
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It not easy keeping my thoughts to myself, but these Kate Spade heels are the perfect statement on the beach or at the bar. Photo by Jean Thornton.

It not easy keeping my thoughts to myself, but these Kate Spade heels are the perfect statement on the beach or at the bar. Photo by Jean Thornton.

Just the other day I was locking up my bike at a favorite water front bar.  The bike rack happens to be placed in the sand, and thinking ahead, I had smartly worn a pair of fabulous platform sandals with a five-inch heel.  My toes alone were a good inch off the ground.  As I blissfully skipped to the walkway, a woman passing by with NO SHOES ON cheerfully said, “Great shoes but not good for sand.”  I smiled and walked past her.  I should be applauded because I did not say, “What the hell do you know about shoes, you’re not wearing any, bimbo!” 

Hey, let she with the better shoes cast the first stone at my mental commentary and me.  I am completely serious when I say that it took a great deal of willpower for me to keep my mouth shut with a smile on it instead of stomping on one of her unprotected toes as method of proving why my platforms were not only stunning but also safe and practical as opposed to her bare feet. 

I will be the first to admit that I am not the greatest at thinking before speaking.  Often times I find it best to just immediately interject an apology after saying anything.  Most of my friends know this and understand that my instant and often brutal words are not meant to be hurtful or taken seriously.  It is the rest of the world that has not had a chance to fall in love with my wit and wisdom to such a degree that overlooking my sarcasm is a fair trade off.

Coco Chanel has long been a fashion icon for women everywhere, but she was also known for her witty and dignified ability to advise, be it with a quick and cutting tongue or an elegantly-crafted statement, she provided every female with the advice essential for being a true lady.  Coco’s editing rule still rings true in my ears when I am getting ready for any day whether at the office or out socializing: look in the mirror and remove one accessory.  While some may suggest I edit a few inches off those heels, I insist on holding my ground in stilettos.  Sadly, my mouth may need more editing and a bit of Coco’s grace and restraint. 

I would like to say that my new ability to stop myself before publicly critiquing a complete stranger’s fashion was stopping the mental red carpet show in my mind but it is not.  Already today, I witnessed a woman (out in public) wearing army fatigues (and trust me she was not in the armed forces) in a dark color motif that matched her solid black t-shirt—points for coordinating solids and prints.  Unfortunately she had finished this look with brown hiking boots.  Okay, here is where I am glad I can edit my mouth because first does it really matter to someone wearing fatigues that they are mixing brown and black?  And second, if you are going for the full look, really rock it out with a pair of combat boots.  Hey, you already apparently think that we are mere moments away from all out warfare, why not at least face this battle in corresponding shoes?

Ah, yes, I do not completely have the self-editing tactic down tight, but I am really close to shutting my damn mouth.  Unfortunately, it is not just my desire to spread shoe wisdom to the masses that must remain locked in my mouth.  It is also my thoughts on so many other things that should not leave these lips.  When dealing with tourists I often catch myself having to hold it in.   A lot of tourists that visit our fair island are really great, fun people who are creative and unique individuals.  Unfortunately, I do not get to meet those tourists often; instead I get the ones who find honking the horn on their rented scooter a novelty without compare.  You have never read the headline “Key West Woman Runs Over Tourist- Five Times,” so clearly I am keeping it together. 

 Trust me, world, if you think what comes out my mouth is bad, you can’t even imagine what I keep under the lock and key of my sick little mind.  Six years of studying mental health was probably much cheaper than the lifetime of therapy I would need otherwise to control myself.  Once more I turn to the words of Coco who reminds us “elegance does not consist in putting on a new dress.  It exists in the person who wears it with a level of maturity, class and self-editing which are fashion trends that do not fade with the season.”

Do not get me wrong!  In no way am I saying I am perfect or have mastered the art of editing completely—either in fashion or in speaking.  Trust me; this is an on going lesson of life.  Perfection is not something I can expect in others or myself.  Keeping myself from distributing unsolicited fashion advice is a goal I can hold myself to.  Lest we forget another piece of Coco’s wisdom, “A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.”   Surely there is nothing classier than being polite and considerate of others’ feelings or at least working towards this aspiration, which may take time. But hey, I already have fabulous under control.

 

The Shoe Breakup June 7, 2009

Filed under: Love Me, Love My Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 4:16 pm
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These Steve Madden shoes were made for walking away with your head held high. Photo by Jean Thornton

These Steve Madden shoes were made for walking away with your head held high. Photo by Jean Thornton

Dating can be hard; dating on an island can be a nightmare. So accepting a set-up by friends can be as frightening as a Jaclyn Smith outfit at Kmart. As I walked to the waterfront bar where the meeting was to occur, I passed a guy. I had a brief thought of “damn why can’t that be him.” My cell phone rang seconds later and it WAS the pass-by arranging our meeting spot. He was charming, funny and had a great crooked smile that was like seeing a new pair Michael Kors’ boots. He had seemed a little “too good on paper” and I considered this our first and last meeting. I was shocked when he asked me to dinner the next night and followed through. How could a serious businessman be interested in a social worker in Betsy Johnson wedges?

But that is the way life goes and the next thing you know, this shoe girl was meeting his friends and inviting him to her regular bar. He sent cute text messages, complimented my shoes, and even offered to watch Sex and the City the Movie. To add to his appeal, he told me that he never wanted to get married, which was good news to me because I canceled my mandatory subscription to Bride Magazine years ago. I helped him buy new sheets, watched football and wore the smallest swimsuit I owned in a very cold hot tub. For the first time in a long time I actually liked the little thing that had started. I don’t date anyone. I don’t like to share the sofa. I don’t like feeling the obligation to call or text at the end of the night. Yet, I was doing it. Looking back, I disgust myself and can only blame me for going against my normal avoidance of these things.

Maybe if I had not been distracted by the office and shopping I would have kept my guard up and not ended up on the receiving end of one the most insulting and strangest breakup scenes. After a romantic dinner at a small restaurant we held hands as we walked back to his house. He then handed over a bag containing a beautiful pair of Dolce Vita’s I had been drooling over and which I had shown him only 48 hours before. He totally messed up the size but in my giddiness and the mental planning of how I would sleep in them that night I did not even care. Giving me shoes is pretty much the equivalent of giving me GHB; I am putty in your hands. It was a like a lost scene from Pretty Woman.

I was too high on the pedestal to see what was coming next. It’s been real, it’s been fun, please show yourself to the door. Timber! Move aside—girl in brand new heels falling flat on her face. He actually used the phrase ‘soul mate’, as in how we were NOT soul mates. What? This was a soul mate thing? The only soul mate talk I like refers to the kind of sole mates that have matching Prada stamps on them. And how can he possibly know if I am any kind of mate considering I took more time picking out shoes for my brother’s wedding than dating him! He then threw a dirty one at me, “You’re the kind of girl you marry.” Sucker Punch. Pulling together the best do-not-slap-him or cry-in-front-of-him moment in history, I made the hurt-filled walk out of his house, leaving the shoes. (Hold on! I will explain this in moment.)

In the time since, I have tried to figure out where my casual fling went wrong and why does it bother me so much. I never parked my shoes in his closet, as I am a firm believer in keeping my stuff in my space and his stuff in his space. He initiated a lot of the relationship milestones and shared about his divorce without any prying from me. I was honest with him that I was unable to see wedding bells in my future. I may be the only female in the world over the age of 8 who does not plan and re-plan a mental wedding. I like being single and have no plans to walk down any aisle except the shoe aisle.

As I ease the pain and confusion in my usual manner of shopping, shopping, and more shopping, my record-breaking three designer handbags in one month has not made me forget his name or other things. I cannot help but wonder if the time I spent with him was the real him or was that last night the real him. Somehow the guy I dated for weeks seemed to disappear in a moment somewhere between putting shoes on and taking them off; a new guy sat in his place—and he seemed to have no clue who I was.

I am a card-carrying member of the Commitment Fearful Women of America Club. I have a re-occurring nightmare where I am at my wedding reception and when asked “how excited I am” I say I think I made a big mistake. I just do not have the bride gene. That gene has been replaced with the double shoe gene. It’s a very rare condition, watch for a journal article someday on this.

So why did “my let’s just take it slow and watch where it goes” attitude get misread as a mail order bride in hiding? Is it really that hard for men to believe that there might be women out there who only want to date them and not set a wedding date? Am I that big of a freak of nature that it cannot be comprehended that I am not waiting for a rescue by Prince Charming but instead prefer to pay my own way in life. In the big picture of life does every diamond ring have to be on the left hand or can my right hand be a symbol that I am happy simply being someone’s partner not his everything. Just because I have ovaries does not mean I have a biological clock ticking- who said a kid would go with any of those 3 new bags!

As I replay that night in my head, there are some things I could have said or done differently. I am not sure it would make a difference. If the guy who ventured shoe shopping for me can, less than 24 hours later, decide I am not worth his company, I am not sure he can explain how it ended as it did. I wrestle with the idea that he was all an act, some sort of dating mirage or that he lost his mind somewhere in that shoe box. Regardless, it’s done and those shoes may still very well be sitting in his closet as a silent memorial to this Island Shoe Girl.

I have since thought of a few other places I could have put them that make me smile a little. As much as I loved those shoes for that brief moment I had them on, that is all it was and to keep them would have be an insult to the woman I am. As much as I may have liked him for those brief weeks, that appears to be all it was. If he cannot see the ‘me’ that I see, then I am better off without him… and the shoes.

 

 
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