The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

Costume Girl October 25, 2009

Filed under: Key West; Not Just for Flip Flops — theislandshoegirl @ 11:17 am
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Put on your party shoes and join the parade! Photo by Jean Thornton

Put on your party shoes and join the parade! Photo by Jean Thornton

As a child, Halloween was a one-night event with a sweet tooth hangover that lasted up to two weeks and ushered in the beginning of “the holidays”.  While Halloween is not as traditional a holiday as Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah or New Year’s Eve, it does usher in the two-month period of shopping, cooking, traveling and reuniting in one last desperate attempt to cram all those put-off visits into the final weeks of the year. 

Most of us think of Halloween as a child’s holiday, a time of mischief and disguise that we all must outgrow.  Viewed as a night of crisp air that is filled with both turning leaves and children’s laughter, a rare time of year before jackets shift to winter coats, rakes are replaced by shovels, and wool skirts replace breezy summer dresses.  

Even my little tropical island does not seem to escape these changes—though we do not need snow shovels or wool scarves.  We inevitably end up experiencing the shift into the holidays all the same.  October not only brings Halloween for children but also Fantasy Fest for Key Westers, a 10 day period of parties, street fairs, contests and costumes.   It is a time when all of us Northern transplants, who experienced Halloween in costumes that went over or under winter coats, can finally embrace their inner child and let out all those repressed Halloween costumes from days past.  No longer does your cat tail have to peak out of back of your snow pants or must your bunny ears be stuck on top your stocking hat.  The result of a built-up desire to be free—to let your inner freak flag fly—explodes in a variety of barely there costumes, and sometimes the explosion is so big it ends only in body paint and pasties. 

I often pride myself on being a collected and a well-put together female.  I hope I present the image of a successful independent woman that perhaps has more knowledge then her age reveals.  So why is it that I love this time of year?  Why is it that I trade in an opportunity to wear the new killer jeans I have been waiting to display with those perfect Betsy Johnson wedges for a cheap cocktail dress and a plastic tiara?

While I have never gone to the extreme of painted public nudity, I have embraced my inner bumblebee, nurse, beauty queen, cheerleader, cowgirl, sailor and many more secret fantasies from Halloweens past.  Paired with a four-inch heel, that costume labeled as “naughty” or “sexy” suddenly becomes sophisticated in my eyes.  Besides, it’s still hot down here, and if my mother justified making me wear snow boots and sweatpants with my pirate outfit in 30 degrees, I can easily justify wearing stiletto heels and fishnet stockings with my bumblebee outfit in 78 degrees. 

Before judgment can be passed on us island people for our week-long celebration, which some call ‘debauchery’ or ‘sinful’, a thing or two should be considered.  Fantasy Fest falls as we enter the final month of hurricane season.  September marks the peak month of hurricane season and often brings the most tension-filled times of storm season.  As we end October and enter the final month, it naturally creates a desire to let out a little sigh of relief.   It is like a marathon runner hitting the final stretch; there is a sudden rush of energy as the end is in sight.  Our little island is often worn down from evacuations and close calls; money is tighter this time of year; and visitors are welcomed to our home like the prodigal son and showered with cheap beads.

 There is a strange attraction to the hum that starts softly as the first events of Fantasy Fest begin that grows louder through the week.  As tired as I may be, as busy as work has been, and as low as my checking account has dwindled, I cannot resist the pull that leads us all to the parade.  Like a child teetering on the age of being too old to trick- or-treat yet still wanting the bounty of candy, I always give in.  Despite my tired feet and the aches that remind I am not as young as used to be, I put on my cheerleader outfit, do my best spirit fingers, and flash my bloomers.

I know the Sunday after the big parade I will spend the day being lazy on my sofa and recovering from my parade daze.  By late afternoon it will be time to face the reality of being an adult—time to go the grocery store and clean the house.  I will pack up the pieces of costumes I assembled with such excitement and care.  As I select the best beads to add to my collection of Fantasy Fest treasures, I cannot help but feel grateful that I let the inner child out who still lives for playing dress up. 

Even in Key West the air turns a little cooler this time of year and the wind comes a little stronger off the water.  It is time to change the clocks back an hour, move the calendar ahead a month, and begin to think about stuffing turkeys, stockings and a million other things into the end of the year.  The costumes may go into the closet but the pictures remain on my refrigerator to remind me that every now and then it’s good to make believe, to dance in the streets and in general celebrate that I still I believe in the fantasy of life.

 

If God Was a Shoe Designer October 18, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 9:50 am
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And on the eighth day God created shoes… and it was fabulous! Just like these Marc by Marc Jacobs wonders. Photo by Jean Thornton

And on the eighth day God created shoes… and it was fabulous! Just like these Marc by Marc Jacobs wonders. Photo by Jean Thornton

Nowhere in scriptures does it say on what day God created shoes or shoe closets, but I cannot help but think of them as creations with the stamp of a higher power.  While some may look at the beaches, the mountains, the rolling fields and the many other natural wonders of the world, I look at the stilettos displayed in a storefront window and see little pointed miracles.  It leaves me wondering: If God was a shoe designer how might the world be different?

For my own personal gain, I would hope God might eliminate some pinches and pains for my feet.  I believe that if God was a shoe designer, there would never be blisters on my little toes.  Ankles would never be rubbed and callused.  The best shoes, while usually the most uncomfortable, would now be like walking in the clouds or strolling the streets of heaven. 

The freedom of having an infallible shoe designer would at last allow me to live in a world where loving shoes was accepted without bias or question.  To challenge my choice of footwear would be to the same as questioning my religious beliefs.  No longer would shoe girls be subjected to the judgment of others who believe that shoes are frivolous things or confines of society.  The taller the heel, the closer a shoe girl would be to God.                                               

While coveting your neighbor’s wife is still off limits, coveting her shoes might become the exception to the ‘coveting goods’ commandment.  A girl with a couple hundred pairs of heels would not be thought of as greedy but as celebrating examples of God’s good work.  Every brightly colored and bejeweled shoe would be a mini-cathedral.  The Corporal Works of Mercy would also include giving shoes to the unshod feet of the world.  Pencil-thin stilettos that seemed impossible to walk in without breaking an ankle would now be seen as a sign of devotion and a divine belief in God’s work. 

With God as the master designer of both our lives and our shoes there would be no reason to worry about getting caught in the rain while wearing satin pumps; surely the water would part before stainable shoes like the Red Sea before Moses.   Mother Teresa would be named a saint for her ability to teach the orphans of Calcutta how to walk in heels.  Manolo Blanhik would meet with the Pope to help shape the future of the Catholic Church and next winter’s line of booties.  Cardinals would not only wear red caps but also Christian Louboutin’s with matching red souls.  A platform heel would peek from under every nun’s habit. 

 Like the people God created, no two shoes would be alike… well maybe I should say no two pairs of shoes would be alike.   Every shoe would be created uniquely but equally with beautiful soles, just like the souls God gives each and every person.  All shoes would have a purpose and the chance to make the world different with its imprint.  While some shoes may be made to help us complete our daily outfits, other shoes would find glorious moments where they are meant to shine.

However!  Just like the world God has created for us, it would be up to us walking in those shoes to determine how they were treated.  Judging from the way we tend to treat people who are a bit different from us, I have a little concern.  Would we be blind enough to judge one shoe as better than another because it had a bow or a few rhinestones compared to those made of simple straps?  Could our tendency to place more worth on some of God’s creations lead to some shoes being tossed aside?  Would we test shoes still in production to eliminate those we have deemed to be flawed?

 After all, many souls are ignored, even when they reach out for help and love; perhaps some of God’s shoe soles would also be neglected for whatever reasons.  As much as I would like to believe that God’s shoes would be seen as a unifying force, I wonder if some shoes would get a higher value than others or be seen as more solid demonstrations of belief.  Even if God created shoes with fish in the heels, would they be viewed as less valuable than hand-stitched boots because they are different?  What if some pairs of shoes got rights that other pairs did not—like the right to share a shoe box—while others were discriminated against because of their partner choice?

 If God was a shoe designer my world may be a lot easier to explain; for surely my love of shoes would be simpler to explain.  I have to think that a little Divine intervention might occur when I saw a new pair that was a little too expensive for this mortal’s budget.  Yes, maybe my favorite black BCBG satin pumps wouldn’t pinch anymore if God had designed them.  But I am afraid that our world would not embrace all the shoe designs we were given, since we do not do a great job embracing all the people designs we’ve been given. 

Until the day I can convince the world of God’s great shoe design in each of us, all I can do for now is to keep my heart open to as many human designs and shoe designs as I can.

 

Calling All Creative Shoe Girls! October 13, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — theislandshoegirl @ 11:39 pm
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This socially minded Shoe Girl wants you to put on your best thinking shoes and enter the “You, Your Shoe and 72” Contest. Visit http://www.jimmychoo72.com to find out more:

THE COMPETITION
Jimmy Choo and Elton John AIDS Foundation have launched a photo competition to support the launch of Project PEP, a charity collection that donates 25% of sales to the Simelela Rape Centre in South Africa. The money goes towards providing the HIV-preventative treatment PEP (which must be taken within 72 hours of exposure to HIV) and counseling to victims of rape in South Africa, which has the highest count of rape in the world.

PRIZES
Those who submit their entries before 26th October will be shortlisted for an exhibition at the celebrity launch event at Selfridges London on 29th October. On this night Tamara Mellon will launch the ‘PEP-Up Shop’ at Selfridges, which will display the Project PEP collection and the selected photo entries for 72 hours thereafter.
The overall winners will be announced after the competition close on 7th December. On offer is a Grand Prize of 7 pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes and 2 handbags, plus over 100 exclusive Jimmy Choo prizes.

Show them you got soul and that you are not just another pair of pretty shoes… better yet show them you have soul and some pretty shoes!

 

Shoes that Pinch; Men that are Jerks October 10, 2009

Filed under: Love Me, Love My Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 11:32 pm
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These Jessica Simpson boots look fabulous, but can leave my toes pinched. Photo by Jean Thornton

These Jessica Simpson boots look fabulous, but can leave my toes pinched. Photo by Jean Thornton

You know those heels that you have that are absolute nightmares yet also an absolute dream come true all at the same time—the ones that are stunning and breath- taking; they catch the eye of every person in the room?  Ah, yes, the shoes that you say are for “special occasions” like that fancy dinner and then your open casket viewing since you will certainly die from the pain that will accompany them.  And if you do survive, you will spend the next 48 hours changing bandages and monitoring the giant blister that has engulfed all 5 toes (if some have not fallen off) on your right foot. You will offer your friends weak excuses such as you are doing laundry or taxes instead of admitting you have essentially hobbled yourself and can no longer leave your home. 

Yet, as soon as the pain is gone and you can walk again, you will not keep the promise to God you made when begging not to have the pinkie toenail fall off.  The promise that stated you will never wear those devil shoes another time, that you would bury them in ground blessed with holy water so they could never torture another woman again.  No, you will instead bask in the glory of being the woman with the most amazing shoes, and you will deny any pain or wounds left by these shoes now viewed as fabulous gifts from the heavens. 

So why…why wear the shoes that pinch and cripple your poor feet again and again?  It may be suggested by some that society has forced women into heels that can cripple various parts of our bodies, from our toes all the way up to our backs.  Others have determined that those dangerous shoes are ways to keep women weak, further promoting the idea of a damsel in distress waiting for rescue.   I have to disagree with these ideas and instead promote my own belief that women will sacrifice personal comfort for any form of vanity.  

It’s the same reason we date men that are jerks.  Just as sure as we will continuously desire the most painful yet beautiful shoes, we will also pick the biggest jerk yet most attractive men.  To be clear I am not talking about men that physically or emotionally hurt women, I am talking about the men that are so awful, whether self-centered, boring, or immature we know from the start there is no hope for this relationship.  Many women think they can change these men, but more often we just end up frustrated by our attraction to someone who is all wrong.

Suck it up, sister, and join the masses of women who have ignored their own gut feeling that he is all wrong yet you ride it out because he seems great at least “on the surface.”  And just like those blisters and the foot pain that you refuse to admit to, most likely you deny that any of those things bother you when talking with your friends.  Instead you claim that you actually enjoyed helping him tie fishing lines for his Sunday fishing trip as opposed to going to that nice dinner you were supposed to have that night. 

Often times we look back at these past dates from the other side of the fence and can clearly see the warning signs and flaws that most likely everyone else saw but was afraid to share with us.  There always seems to be that awkward moment about two months after a relationship ends when your friends start to mention that you were dating the world’s biggest jerk.  You almost feel like you had spinach in your teeth during a business lunch and only after the bill has been paid did anyone bother to tell you. 

We were lost in the moment, enjoying the glory of appearing to be in a fabulous and happy relationship despite the fact that we know this can only lead to incredible pain and a day of not getting out of bed.   Whether it is your toe slowly being crushed or the feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you not to believe him… you deny, deny, deny in order to keep up the charade.  After all, those shoes are Prada and everyone you know wants them, and he has a killer smile that every girl in the room wants to have flashed at her.  So surely neither those heels nor his smile can be bad.

After recovering from the broken heart and the bruising on your foot fades away, so does that memory of the jerk or the shoes that caused the pain.  Sooner or later our feet will be crammed into a pair of heels that—while fabulous—are still hurtful.  And unfortunately our hearts may be no better off; as soon as one dud of a man leaves another often follows.  It is then that we need our friends to point out to us the jerks who are lurking out there waiting to take the last one’s spot.    Hopefully, we will hear their warnings prior to making eye contact with the next Mr. Wrong and instead choose the good guy… if not the comfortable shoes. 

I am sorry to say there may not be much hope.  My closet is filled with amazingly beautiful yet painful shoes purchased in the aftermath of dating a disappointing guy.  And after all, deceivingly attractive men are often attracted to women in shoes that pinch; they know we enjoy the pain that comes with the looks.   And so the cycle continues.

 

Am I the Dumbing Down of America? October 4, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 10:08 am
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Every smart shoe girl keeps herself well read and well heeled, these Michael Kors are perfect for reaching those tall shelves at the library. Photo by Jean Thornton

Every smart shoe girl keeps herself well read and well heeled, these Michael Kors are perfect for reaching those tall shelves at the library. Photo by Jean Thornton

It’s the end of another grueling day; on my evening agenda is a sofa and reading a few chapters in A People’s History of the United States.  My scholarly endeavor gets derailed when I open my mailbox to find the latest monthly edition of Marie Claire.  Good-bye intellectual, hello trendy fashioneasta!   An evening of continued learning beyond my government-mandated public education goes out the window replaced with an opportunity to learn the best skin care plan at ages 20, 30, and 40!   My goodness, my skin is set for the thirty years!

I am taking beauty over brains: Instead of turning to the coarse pages of literature that, while longer lasting, are completely without pretty pictures, I am making the self-centered decision to choose glossy pages filled with fashion advice that is only good for the next 30 days or until next month’s edition arrives.   This could be the argument for Adult Attention Deficit Disorder, as many may not consider reading an article about environmentally friendly shoes lines as academically intriguing as the latest political dissection on the bestseller list.  Knowledge may be power, but who says that knowledge has to be academically based?  Can that knowledge be about Kate Spade shoes, Prada handbags and this season’s must-have bangle bracelets?

I like to consider myself a somewhat educated person, I have degrees from a state  University, that while not “Ivy League,” they certainly were not written in crayons.  I can spend hours debating current events, politics, trends in psychology and other topics worthy of cocktail party banter.  At the same time I can also argue the advantages of wearing high heels for a female’s good body posture that grabs a man’s attention while giving your calves the best workout available; the reoccurrence of shoulder pads and wide belts on Paris runways, and why wearing jeans shorts is wrong 80% of the time.  Yet, speak too confidently about the latter topics and suddenly you are not smart, you are narcissistic. 

This leaves me wondering if I am the dumbing down of America that our media and intellectual think tanks keep proclaiming.  Like global warming, the threat of a stupider American looms as the possible fate of future – or is it today’s — generations.  Celebrity gossip and the latest tax bill Congress is debating may not seem like they deserve equal thought, but in my world they do.  Clearly, I am not alone in this belief as the number of celebrity-based magazines such as Star or US Weekly, is far greater than the number of the political magazines lining our grocery store checkouts.  There has to be a reason that shiny pictures with captions about the possible plastic surgeries of A list stars are so popular in comparison to the magazines boosting headlines about the testimony given to the Senate Special Committee on Aging.   In truth it is easier to enjoy talk of fashion and who was thrown off the latest Hollywood movie set, over the landmine-filled political discussions that can easily go from polite chit chat to a heated argument before you can finish a glass of wine.  

At times I feel I must fight for the value of my interests against the value of other’s interest.  While on the surface, watching hours of the Style Network might be looked upon as less educational than watching the History Channel, I stand firm in asserting that I am actually learning more from watching a makeover marathon.  Almost everyone has been educated in the basics of history since grade school, yet how many classes taught you about coordinating accessories with a Calvin Klein suit?  By spending time watching hopeless fashion victims transformed into confident style icons I am only closing an educational loop hole.    

It’s true my coffee table is more likely to have headlines proclaiming spring’s must have sandals than a copy of Ulysses.  You may call it superficial; I call it a post-scholastic coma that limits how much more I can learn.  I am slowly building new synaptic bridges and returning to the world of well-written non-fiction.   The reality is it takes a balance of both fashion savvy and political insight to be a well-rounded person.  While a killer silver stiletto may be the perfect splash for your outfit, understanding the global effects of the U.S. economic decline is also in vogue. 

I put aside the guilt of delving into an article about how to get a sexy beach body instead of learning more about how the pilgrims exploited the Native Americans.  Hey, I already know enough to grasp that most of those Thanksgiving stories of peaceful coexistence are somewhat false.  But I don’t know how to tone my abs while at my desk!  At least I recognize this conundrum and internal struggle of how to best spend the time set aside for reading that will improve my world view, at least the world I can see from my sofa.   Sure, Glamour may not give me the wisdom of an educated voter picking my next governor, but it can help pick the right mascara and that’s a pretty vital decision too.