The Island Shoe Girl's Blog

Where shoes meet sand…

Rest Your Heels December 27, 2009

Filed under: Its All About the Shoes, Uncategorized — theislandshoegirl @ 10:07 am
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The Island Shoe Girl is up North for the holidays, so she is posting a favorite and spending time with her family…okay she is actually busy buying shoes and shopping the after-Christmas sales!  Enjoy your loved ones- both people and shoes, The Island Shoe Girl will be back next week with a new blog and many, many, many new shoes!

The Island Shoe Girl is resting her heels this week...fabulous Michael Kors heels. Photo by Jean Thornton.

I Shoe Good

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.  But 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 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 you’re 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 that when asked your shoe size you respond with, “doesn’t matter, I will get my feet in there!”  You shoe so good, that 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 a 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, and, 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 real 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 is sadder than a designer heel with the tell-tale sign of warehouse sales: the re-sale black mark across the bottom so that when you casually cross your legs, the whole world knows those shoes came without a box.  On the plus side, the price is almost always a steal which eases 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 a story as when it happens in person.

Certainly 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 which eased the pain a little.  While anxiously awaiting its opening, I would press my face against the store front windows like a child trying to peek 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 shops, including places that sell 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 even 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 supposedly providing the voice of reason wears the same size and whispers “do it” behind your shoulder. If my guardian angel 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 those K-mart flip flop-wearing fools as they part like the Sea before Moses, 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 I already have to pay for my 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, protective glass case, I notice the magazine 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.

 

My Shopping Holiday December 20, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — theislandshoegirl @ 9:20 am
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A little bit of Holiday cheer my feet in these beautiful Chinese Laundry heels. Photo by Jean Thornton

It’s December 20th, another holiday season is in high gear, and the Christmas sales are pushing last minute deals.  In malls across America women have practically beat each other silly for a pair of discounted lace panties that once worn they will fight to keep from riding up.  The lack of malls in Key West; however, keeps most of us from having to kill our neighbors over a pair Calvin Klein Jeans on the clearance rack.  This time of year is a good time for a shop-aholic like me to be far a way from the lure of malls.  Unfortunately, the season of “self giving” starts while I am still on my annual visit to my family up north—or as it could also be called “the land of malls.”

In general I can make it about 24 hours into a visit home before I break and have to buy something.  I am like the child that begs to open one gift early and carefully shakes each package for telltale signs of what is inside.  As soon as I have hugged each waiting family member at my parents’ house, it is time to see old friends such as DSW Shoe Warehouse, Macy’s, Old Navy and many other old shopping mall pals who anxiously await my visit.  I walk through the double glass doors and plunge myself into the sounds and smells of the of the holiday season: piped holiday music softly surrounds, registers chime, large red shopping bags dance by and the scent of expensive perfumes drift from their respective counters. 

It has become increasingly clear to me that I cannot be within 20 minutes of a shopping mall without being pulled into the parking lot with magnetic force.  With each day of my visit another quick trip to a mall produces more bags and things to pack up for the long trip back.  By the end of the week, I think driving was a better option than flying simply based on trunk space.  Nine pairs of shoes, eight new shirts, seven sweet deals becomes the refrain of my 12 Days of Christmas. 

Ah yes, it is a special time of year!  Nothing glistens during like the holidays like a freshly polished silver rack proudly displaying the perfect Diane Von Furstenberg dress for New Year’s Eve.  Tis the season to show all of your old high school friends how much better your life is by flashing that new Kate Spade bag.  The gifts under the family Christmas tree are plentiful, but I can not resist the joy of carrying loads of bags containing fabulous deals & finds that are presents to the many sides of me that have worked hard all year.

For ‘the me’ that stayed late in the office for too little pay—a new power skirt that does not require expensive dry cleaning.  For ‘the me’ that got dumped by that jerk and spent a week feeling absolutely low—a new pair of five-inch Steve Madden booties made for walking out when he crawls back.  For ‘the me’ that survived the months of mind numbing heat—a new sundress off the clearance rack.    For the part of me that hopes this New Year’s Eve will bring a new romance—a stunning new dress and pair of gladiator stilettos that will make mouths drop long before the ball does. 

My parents and brothers will give the gifts that make sense and make life a little easier: a blender that I have needed for years, a new set of canisters because the sugar jar has been stuck since June, spatulas and a garlic press to make my cooking more successful. The practical gift card to help with the new sofa fund (because I spent the last sofa fund on shoes that I could not pass up).  All wonderful things that will be cherished and appreciated.  

The holidays are a time of sharing, giving and catching up.  It is a time when I get to see some family that I may only see once every year, sometimes less.  I love spending time with my family and seeing how much the children have grown over the year.  But I also enjoy the time I spend rewarding myself for surviving another year and bracing myself for the start of a new one.  I don’t think it is selfish or over-indulgent; there are many times I give to myself last or maybe not at all.  So during the last week of December I take advantage of the sales and treat myself.  Hey! Some people justify that extra sugar cookie; I justify that extra glance at the shoe section.  After all, the holidays are a time of magic, make believe, and hopeful thoughts of the future.  I just like to believe that magic comes in a size 6 ½ heel and will bring much joy, happiness, and success in the future.

 

Believing in Birthdays December 13, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 8:54 am
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Put on your party shoes and enjoy the birthday cake. Photo by Jean Thornton

Birthdays are funny things.  When we are little, birthdays are cause for great parties and even greater anticipation.  As we get older, birthdays change from the highlight of our year to simply another day.   Only when we get to an age where people are amazed that we are still alive do birthdays again become cause for celebration. Our adult lives and adult responsibilities take over; for me, it’s not feeling old that make my birthdays a less exciting event, it’s feeling rushed.   

Being a December baby born within the dreaded two week range around Christmas, my birthday has always conflicted with holiday events.  Yet as a child my birthdays were exciting.  There were the cupcakes at school, the sleepover with friends, and all the singing and cheering over my mere existence.  The whole day was MY day, from choosing a sugary breakfast of donuts to bundles of birthday cards—it was non-stop smiles.   Birthday cakes with loads of sweet frosting were not diet-busting dangers but wish granting machines.

My birthdays since college have become less important in both my adult schedule and that of others.  I am not offended by it; I understand because my calendar is just as complicated and clogged with all the realities of life as the next  person’s.  I am happy just to spend an evening without a work crisis and with good friends—even when those friends live in my shoe closet.  In the critical time crunch before holiday vacations start and much of the world stops functioning until January 2nd, a birthday can almost be an inconvenience.

That is how I was looking at my birthday again this year.  I was not throwing a pity party for myself, but I was planning on keeping my birthday calm, simply hoping to wrap up work projects and brace for another year ahead.  It hasn’t been an easy year in my line of work as a homeless shelter case manager.  The budgets have been slashed since there simply are not enough tax dollars to go around, but at the same time, more and more Americans lose their homes, lose their jobs, and lose hope for their future.  And so the demand for shelter space becomes greater.  

The hardest part for me is not the thought of previously successful people struggling to find the simplest job, or the shame of elderly persons who can no longer afford to balance small budgets and maintain their health.  It is the children.   Children make up almost 25% of the homeless population nationwide; they are frequently the most overlooked part of our homeless population.  While I understand that most people truly want to believe in an America where children have homes with warm beds and full stomachs at night, sadly, I know this is not true for every child in our country.

One of my goals is that the children at my shelter do not “feel homeless”—that they feel like every other child in town.  It takes a lot of hard work and community support to just meet a child’s basic needs.  Birthdays, however, are often forgotten days by those outside of the shelter.   Recently, I had the chance to help remember one birthday; it was a big one too, 7 years old.   No driver’s license, no extended curfews, no voting rights.  But when you are 6, 7 is a very big deal.  

Birthdays at the shelter do not resemble the ones shown on television shows.  There are no inflatable jumping houses, no clowns, no pony rides.  Our staff always finds a way to make the day as special as we possible; there usually are homemade birthday cakes, party hats, a few small simple presents, and a couple of balloons.  Even though the guest list is small—only the other residents of the shelter—the candles and birthday wishes still shine just as brightly. All the things that we adults once held true as children are still believed by little ones today.  They still think they are friends with the coolest person in the world simply because they tell the best jokes; that adults are amazing because they can light candles; and all their gifts are priceless no matter the actual cost.  And they still believe that if they wish with all their heart, that wish will come true. 

Yes, birthdays could be seen as just another day of the year.  But the beauty of a birthday is that it really is your day; the other 364 belong to someone else but that one day is yours.  It could be easy to see this year as disappointing in a time when so many have lost so much.  But if children in homeless shelters can find a reason to celebrate their own .special day then surely we adults can find one day for ourselves too. 

I’ve decided birthdays should really be a lot more like we dreamed they would be when we were little.  So this year I am dropping the first number and embracing the ‘8’ at the end of mine.  I plan to eat a big piece cake and not worry about the calories.  My friends will be the coolest people in the whole world because they make me laugh; my parents will be amazing because they still do things I have yet to master; and the gifts from the heart will mean the most.  And I will believe that if I wish with all my heart it will come true.

 

The Joy of Getting Lost December 6, 2009

Filed under: Common Sense in Unsensible Shoes — theislandshoegirl @ 8:31 am
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These Dolce and Gabana heels are perfect for going no where at all! Photo by Jean Thornton

I recently had the chance to be a stranger in a strange land; for a little island girl, Miami is not only a big city, but a strange one too.  I was undeterred—the bright lights and fast-moving traffic cannot sway this shoe girl from tracking down every shoe clearance rack in the greater Miami area.  Thanks to the wonderful world of Wi-Fi and my lap top, I was quickly Googling directions to all the shopping hot spots I could find.  Yet five minutes into the drive I found myself cursing my mis-guided map questing which was leading me the wrong way down one way streets and had me swerving semi trucks in the express lane.  I could not help but wonder: what ever happened to good old-fashioned navigation and exploration?

I quickly realized that a traffic jam in Miami is as common as stiletto in my shoe closet, and I began re-thinking taking that GPS system off my holiday wish list last year.  With my printed directions offering little solution and leaving  me with time while sitting in the bumper-to-bumper traffic to ponder why I chose the “quickest route offered via interstate” and why I was spending all my free time pushing on towards the next shopping destination when I wasn’t even sure what I would find there.  In a world where it is becoming more and more difficult to get lost, I was lost and in more ways than one. 

GPS comes on our cell phones, built into our cars, and sometimes I think it would be good on my designer heels in case of theft.  But is it really so great to always to be told the quickest route to the next shoe sale or whatever life’s next adventure is?  Here I was, having a road rage panic attack because traffic was preventing my speedy arrival; however, I really had no schedule.  Yet I was convinced I had to get where I was going so I could get there and leave for the next destination. 

In my search for Shoe Mecca, I was passing by tons of little shops and boutiques that just may have hidden heel treasure inside.  Like so often in life, I was focusing only on my destination.  I could not help but see the similarity in my own life: rush through the work week to get the weekend; rush through the grocery store to get home, usually forgetting half my list; rush to the bank; rush to meet friends, only to rush off so I can get a good rest for the next day of rushing.  Even in asleep my mind is rushing through confusing dreams of what my future might look like. 

It’s no wonder that on a day when I had no place I had to be, I spent it rushing to stores that maybe had some great deals, I have become accustomed to not sitting still and enjoying where I am when I am there.  As children we love adventure; an afternoon spent exploring is a delight.  The older we get, the more we push ourselves to reach our next goal, the next milestone, and the next step—even when there are no plans beyond the moment we are in.  Even in Key West, where taking it slow is our motto, I see us all becoming more caught up in what is happening next. 

When I finally arrived at the end of my directions, I was hardly saying, “Woohoo!”  I was disappointed in what I found.  There were no secret shoe deals; there were hardly any deals at all.  I won’t even express my sadness at the handbag selection.  However, I decided not to leave empty handed or minded, so to speak.  I determined that it was time to stop looking for the next ‘thing’ or sale, and to start looking at what the journey had to offer.  It may not be the shoes we find at our determined destination that brings us the most joy and satisfaction, but maybe it’s the shoes we walked in that give us the true happiness we are looking for.  I took the long way back to the hotel and cruised along at the speed limit.  Let someone else take the express way, it was time to enjoy having time and no place to be.  

PS.  Do not worry my shoe fanatical friends, I still left Miami with seven delightful pairs of shoes!