It’s no secret. I adore, crave, and cherish shoes. Of course, what’s not to adore, and crave, and cherish?
I can’t say for certain what prompted this affinity. It’s possible that Shoe Love is in my family DNA, which stands to reason because I have sisters who adore shoes, I had a mother who adored shoes, and I had ancestors who definitely adored shoes—obvious from the many old photographs depicting them sporting some serious dandies. It’s also possible that Shoe Love is in the female DNA because every female I know also goes gaga over great shoes. I wonder if this might explain the latest rage on Instagram: the #shoeselfie … a trend that sucked me in like a wet noodle because I love the idea of Taking A Visual Walk in My Shoes. See my first on Instagram @laurienenson, taken on a Vancouver Canada rooftop patio (sporting what I think is a witchy Halloween overtone).
- Instagram @laurienenson
Like most shoe lovers, I own many pairs, a lot more than I need. This year’s favorites have included copper leather platform sandals with ankle straps; white leather, chunky-heeled sandals reminiscent of the mod 1960’s; rain booties fabricated of clear rubber, infused black lace; tall pointy-toed black-suede boots with sparkly silver wedge heels. In another lifetime, I'd be thrilled to come back as a shoe designer. And if I do, I hope that my brain transfers over the many concepts that are presently floating around in my head. The very reason I wrote a 100,000-word novel on the subject.
Unfortunately, I don’t have shoe shelves on which to display my favorite shoe styles like Francie Lanoo does in my novel IF NOT 4 U and Some Shoes. Rather, I keep my collection lined up in rows on the floor of my closet, often stacking them, and resorting to protecting/preserving the most prized pairs inside cloth shoe bags. To manage the stock, I’m very diligent about weeding them on a regular basis, and sending the excess to well-intended charities—organizations like Dress for Success, which is all about women helping women to thrive in life and in the workplace. The way I look at it, the donations are a great way to offer others a hand up, and at the same time, to share my love of shoes.
Expanding on the notion of sharing shoes, how cool would life have been if all female feet had been created in one common size … let’s say, size seven … so we could wear the shoes not just from our own closets, but from the closets of our best gal-pals? Even better if we were of one common shoe size, how fabulous would life have been if clusters of gal-pals the world over pooled their shoes into a large ‘group’ collection that could be made available to all participating members?
Let’s do the math on the potential benefit here: if shoe-wearer Laurie has ten pairs of great shoes and nine close friends, and if each of those nine friends also had ten pair of shoes, then shoe-wearer Laurie would effectively have one-hundred pair of shoes to choose from for any single occasion.
Sure, there are factors that could prove problematic in this ideal-world scenario: like where those one-hundred pair of shoes would be stored, or who gets first dibs at the coolest choices, or what if two group members get pictured in one of those ‘who-wore-it-best’ comparisons, or what if one gal-pal has terrible style and brings duds into the equation? However, if it meant that shoe-wearing opportunities were multiplied ten-fold, then I’m sure we’d all accept the shortcomings. And if it meant that any pair of donated shoes would fit any feet in need, I'm sure we'd all be overjoyed by the bigger-picture benefit.
Out of curiosity, what do other shoe lovers do with their shoes, to benefit those less fortunate? I ask because I’d like to find more ways to use shoe love in a pay-it-forward way.
*an excerpt from the poem Choosing Shoes by Frida Wolfe
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