Summary

The article discusses societal perceptions of feet, personal insecurities about foot appearance, and the author's own experience with foot modeling.

Abstract

The author reflects on the cultural discomfort surrounding feet, particularly when they deviate from societal standards of beauty. An acquaintance's embarrassment over her feet leads to a broader conversation about the shame and discomfort people feel about their own feet, which are often hidden but exposed in summer. The author recounts an anecdote about a woman with severe bunions at a bus stop, highlighting the embarrassment and judgment faced by those with less-than-perfect feet. Despite the author's confidence in the beauty of their own feet, a modeling agency rejects them for not meeting full-body beauty standards, reinforcing the idea that even when only a part of the body is in question, societal expectations demand perfection from the whole person.

Opinions

The author suggests that people's reactions to others' feet are a reflection of their own foot insecurities.
There is an underlying sentiment that feet are unfairly judged and that their imperfections can cause significant embarrassment.
The author implies that the modeling agency's rejection was based on superficial beauty standards that are unrealistic and ignore individual attributes.
The author believes that many people are envious of those with what they consider to be perfect feet.
There is a hint of satire in the author's tone when discussing the societal obsession with physical perfection, particularly in the context of modeling and advertising.

How Do You Feel About Your Feet?

Do you hide them or flaunt them?

Photo of author’s feet, self-evidently perfect, taken by author at London 10K

I only ask because recently an acquaintance lamented her feet. She said she hated summer because her feet were often exposed.

‘At least you can cover your feet,’ I said. ‘Unlike your face.’

I meant faces in general. Because unless you have a penchant for balaclavas, your face is exposed year-round.

Anyway, that acquaintance of mine, her feet are smaller than your average and have spent years carrying a body too heavy such that they have buckled inwards — overpronation, I think it’s called. Added to this, her feet are mottled red, no doubt due to poor circulation. She has two very promising-looking bunions, one on each foot, and her toenails are creamy and the toes twist inwards like a cresting wave, which lends a hoof-like impression.

Talking of bunions reminds me of an incident years ago. I was at a bus stop with a friend. She nudged me in the ribs and ever so slightly thrust her chin toward the feet of an old woman.

The woman wore a tattered coat and her face was pallid and lined and spoke of years of charring for minimum wage. Two bags of heavy-looking shopping sat on either side of stout veiny legs.

Her feet were broad and yeast-like in their insistence on bulging over her shoes. Each inside edge of the shoe, near the big toe, had been cut, with a Stanley knife by the looks of it, for the cuts were clean and the same length, about four centimetres. Through these cuts spilled the fleshy protuberance of ripe bunions.

As I was feasting on the bunions, the old woman’s voice boomed out.

‘I saw you looking. I can afford shoes. It’s me bunions. I have to cut the shoes for ’em.’ She glared at my friend.

It’s amazing how feet revolt people. But of course, that’s a reflection of how they feel about their own feet; my friend happened to be very embarrassed by her own feet.

Another friend of mine was born with crooked toes; they interlace each other like writhing worms —white, moist knots of knuckle and nail. If it’s summer, my friend glances at my perfect arc of straight toes and I know she covets them.

You see, everyone has their attributes and mine are my feet. Unlike my acquaintance, I lament that my assets are covered most of the year. I was once so emboldened by my feet that I took them to a modeling agency to present them for advertisements — the Dr. Scholl’s sandals variety.

The woman behind the desk sniffed and looked me up and down as she filed her nails. ‘What about the rest of you?’

As if to emphasise the question, a watery-looking man with mousy hair floated to her side.

I frowned. ‘What does the rest of me matter if you are only photographing my feet?’

She sniffed. ‘Oh no. It doesn’t work like that. All of you must be perfect.’

Not to be deterred, I said, ‘Well, would you at least like to see my feet?’ One glance at my perfect arc of toes would surely override her ridiculous rule.

The woman sighed. ‘It won’t make any difference.’

I sat on the floor and took off my shoes and socks. I had painted my toenails a lovely pink, which gilded the lily of my perfect arc.

The man and woman peered over the desk.

‘We really do need the whole of you to be photogenic,’ said the man.

I almost said, ‘What’s wrong with the rest of me?’ but neither of them looked the sort to hold back with an answer. Instead, I said, ‘Are you sure?’

I was stalling for time — in order to scrape my self-esteem off the polyester carpet. With as much hauteur as I could muster, I replaced my shoes and socks and gave my hair a good toss as I exited.

It is a truism that we always marvel at that part of another’s body which we find deficient in our own. It was obvious that they were jealous because they had ugly feet. Which goes to show that my theory is correct: few of us have perfect feet and the rest of the population is consumed with fury over this.

So, if you have less than perfect feet, take consolation that you can cover them.

If it’s your face you lament, may I direct you to BankrobbersRus, who does a great line in balaclavas?