I love red shoes, but even as I type that, I realize I don’t currently have a pair in my closet. There is something wrong with that. I probably need to remedy the situation.
If you own a pair of red shoes, you own a story. There’s always one. You put them on and something unexpected happens. Or something unexpected comes out of your mouth. Red shoes give you courage. Their attitude travels from the bottom up.
I have had several pairs of red high-heeled pumps. They were very good friends of mine. And like good friends, they are not divulging any secrets. Around 1983 I saw a pair of red, vintage, satin heels I craved so badly, I couldn’t bear for anyone else to have them. I bought them. I wore an 8-1/2. They were 6’s.
My daughter went to see a new pediatrician in her favorite pair of red Mary Janes. The doctor, a woman, said, “Hello there. I love your shoes. Did you know, I only wear red shoes?” We both looked down at her feet which were clad in red loafers. She and my daughter have been great friends ever since. When she was three, my brother gave her a pair of red cowboy boots. She wore them with purpose. She did them proud. And she has never parted with them, even though she’s long since outgrown them.
I remember as if it were this morning, seeing a pair of red, pointy-toed velvet Moroccan slippers at an import store in Milan in Piazza Sant’Eustorgio. I wanted them. I didn’t buy them. I regret that. I just know that they would have unleashed unexplored sides of my personality, even if I never left the comfort of my home.
I believe that red shoes have accompanied us through more first steps, more first days of school, more power lunches and more successful dates than any other fashion accessory in history. They tend to get things started, even if it’s just our own sluggish motors. I know you have a red shoe story to tell. Will you share it?
[If you liked this post, you might also enjoy Memphis Stiletto Blues.]