Take a walk in my shoes
A timeline of the footwear that’s kept me on my toes
I don’t remember having any dress-up shoes, not the plastic and pink monstrosities with sparkly or feather embellishments my friends had in their dress-up boxes. Instead, I recall trying on my mother’s boots to walk around — so my obsession with boots started early on.
I hadn’t started school when Nancy Sinatra’s hit song “These Boots are Made for Walking” began to get airplay. Full of so much sass and attitude, it was a favourite of mine. We referred to it as ‘boots’ and anytime it came on the radio, family turned the dial while I stomped around the house in my mother’s leather boots, toddler dancing to Nancy’s anthem of refusal to be the underdog.
The boots I borrowed at that time had a small heel and a pointed toe, my mum had worn them with the stirruped ski pants popular in the sixties. But winkle pickers weren’t for children’s feet. My mother felt it was very important for us to wear well-fitted shoes while we were still growing, so I was always taken for my feet to be measured for width and length for sensible shoes.
Towards the end of primary school, however, I began to long for shoes which followed fashion. In the mid-1970s everyone wore platform shoes, with squared puffy toes; Often in outlandish colours or graced with gaudy embellishments. Plenty of times I tried on my older sister’s shoes, wishing our feet were the same size so I could borrow them.
One trick I had fun with involved my shadow. In autumn and winter, the sun is low in the sky, so every shadow appears elongated. While playing outside, I’d lift my feet off the ground, admiring the shadow versions of my shoes that seemed to have fabulously high platforms, like the pop stars and models wore.
The year I was eleven, on our back-to-school shopping trip, I persuaded my mother to ignore school rules regarding shoes. She allowed me to select from a glorious array of trendy shoes. I left the shop with a pair more plum than the regulation brown which I could not wait to wear. Their solid black rubber soles were heavy, making my walking clumsy until I got acquainted with them, but I mastered it. I don’t know what my mother said to make my headmistress turn a blind eye. All I know is wearing them my final year, I felt ‘a la mode’.
My secondary school had very strict rules regarding the height and colour of shoes. I was never able to get away wearing anything attractive with my uniform. Desert boots became fashionable at my school, footwear which looked ok with long socks and skirts.
I changed school for the sixth form, where I was able to wear my own clothes, and my shoes could reflect my taste. The new romantic style my peers and I favoured meant scouring charity shops and market stalls, as well as mainstream shops, for items to provide an individual look.
My favourite shoes in that period were a pair of courts in gunmetal grey with stiletto heels, much more flattering against bare legs than white. Later I purchased low-heeled black shoes in a new shape, with a raised feature at the back of the shoe. Unfortunately, this feature was impractical. Wearing them for any distance, the rubbing caused me to bleed into those shoes. Decades later, I still have bumps on my heels which my poor feet created in self-defence!
What about ‘the ones that got away’ — shoes or boots that were so beautiful that I had to have them, but found them impractical? I’ve owned plenty that were too high, too tight or just didn’t work with my wardrobe. Sandals with a heavy rope wedge where every strap rubbed a blister. Knee-high black tooled cowboy boots with vertiginous heels; once I started walking I’d feel so unbalanced I couldn’t stop. I had the cutest black high-heeled ankle boots, a mixture of smooth leather and suede with flashy gold eyelets, but if I walked too far in them, my feet began to cramp.
Now I’ve reached an age where I can’t trust my knees in combination with high heels, so I won’t buy more, yet I can’t bear to say goodbye to my beloved footwear. I owned beautiful linen peep-toed shoes with two leather straps which remind me of vintage luggage. I felt sassy in brown suede boots with a stacked heel which laced up to the knee, and fresh as a daisy in the palest pink cowboy boots, although I kept scuffing their pointed toes.
Now I’m forcing myself to get excited about trainers and chunky flat boots, and learning what looks good with skirts or dresses, although at heart I am still jeans and knee-high boots kinda gal.
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