Shoes (aka, Vanity Before Comfort)

I own two kinds of painful shoes. The first is the obvious kind: the kind that make your feet ache (either the entire foot or a specific part). There are the high heels, the narrow heels, the shoes that are a tad too tight, those that don't support my arches, and the heeled sandals that the balls of my feet slide in.

The second kind doesn't make the food ache or sore, but is more insidious: the skin irritant shoe. Even when they fit well, there are a number of shoes I own which rub against the heel or back of my ankle until they produce blisters, which are in turn rubbed off, revealing raw dermis to be gradually chafed off. As I don these evil shoes, I tell myself hopefully, "Well, last time I wasn't wearing hose--or my foot was swollen--or I needed to add a pad to the back. It'll be okay this time." This is what is known as being delusional.

Of course, it never ends well. I've added tape, bandaids, gel inserts--you name it, I've tried to cushion the back of these shoes with it. It never works.

Since I started this job, I've kept my shoes on a rotational schedule. I wear gorgeous but painful shoes every other day, giving myself a day to rest with shoes that are comfy, but don't necessarily finish off the outfit. I'm getting addicted to wearing heels again, which is cruel, cruel irony now that I work on the third floor. And take the stairs.

But I still do it. Aesthetics before comfort, fashion over happy feet. I may have some tomboy ways, but in the area of shoes, I am as weak as Imelda Marcos.