That’s the story of, that’s the glory of love.

My first pair of branded shoes were a pair of miss piggy Adidas. They were pink and perfect and I wore them until one had a hole at the right toe. The hole became so large that my mother guerilla maneuvered to throw them out while I was at good old Watsessing Middle school having my name mangled. To this day, my mother does not understand how much and what those shoes meant to me. When I wore them, it was a way to be just like all the others.

I could pretend to be the kids with the ring dings and bologona sandwiches, that I didn’t smell a little like curry,  that my name too was on those name keychains at the rest stops along the New Jersey Trunpike. As the years went on, through the freshman 15, the bar hopping in NYC, the ravages of pregnancy,  to the carousing until late in Mumbai, my waistline fluctuated, sometimes wildly, sometimes not, but shoes, my darlings always fit. [DISCLAIMER except if you experience the yoga spread, then…well you knew what you were getting into.]

At a given time, I have a base shoe collection of 12 pairs of boots, a couple of flat sandals, 2-3 pairs of sneakers, and at least 2 transitional peeptoes, all teetering, except the sneakers. I have owned most of them for years, they have been much loved, cared for, resoled and lovingly stored. The years I spent in Mumbai, my shoes were housed in the USA, in loaned basement space. The  first weekend after I returned, rather reluctantly,  we made the trek from Albany, NY to Newark, DE just for my boots.

I have a particular weakness for Frye Brand boots and shoes. The near obsession began my freshman year at Vassar. My favorite person came back from an NYC trip with a pair of black Frye harness boots.  I saw and coveted.

It was love.

I never looked back, they have never let me down.

Shoes are transformative.  And while I love all of my precious lovelies equally, I have a soft spot in my heart for boots with stacked heels, some of my favorites below.

Stuart Weitzman
Barbara Bui, SW & CK

Strutting in a pair of fantastically architectural heels, hips swinging,  head thrown back, sunshine on my face, there’s nothing like it, it’s euphoria, a little like love.

Tomorrow do thy worst for I have lived today.

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Relentlessly punctual, hedonist denim-head. Inked, vain, lover of shoes, clothes, and handbags, but mostly lost causes.

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