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.

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Stuart Weitzman
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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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Peppered with them

You never lack for them you know, first times.  India has lots of them, first times.  There’s the first time you’re stupefied when a full grown adult just cuts the line in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.  Then there’s the thrilling first time you freaking yell at that idiot of a person, that, HELLO? there’s a line?  And they either stare at you like you’re some sort of idiot too or  they have some shame and get back in line behind you.  Oh yes, sometimes, you get to your payment counter to pay, pull out your credit card and the cashier will take your credit card and walk it up to the register upstairs because that’s the only register that will perform such a transaction (BANGS HEAD!) and walk it back down so you can sign! And then of course there’s the first time you call your driver to bring your car around and pick you up on the highway because the mall pick up is a traffic snarl.  And so as you’re picked up and swept away into the easy air conditioned confines of your car you walk past a small child, no older than your seven year old son, sleeping on the sidewalk, while Mumbai churns around him.

You deposit your bags on the floor of the car and try not to stare but your driver is honking at the rickshaw he is stuck behind that is stuck behind a bus that is stuck behind the cars that shouldn’t have turned before the signal turned green or red or something and so your car is stuck, and your headphones are on and the music is some godawful Hindi movie nonsense mashup and all you can do is stare at that boy and look at what you bought and look at him laying there with the sun in his face and people just going about their day.  That’s a freaking kid! Sleeping in the middle of the sidewalk! 

I picked my daughter up at the bus stop.  The other mothers came.  There was the usual banter.  I wonder where his mother is.