My passion for unique and beautiful shoes mirrored young love: frenzied, excessive, and lustful. I felt a rush every time I slid my slim feet into a pair of high strappy heels, sexy and statuesque, emboldened by inquiries about where I bought them. My beauties were scattered throughout our home, not because I was too lazy to put them away, but so that I could admire them and prolong the memories of how I felt when they adorned my feet. As girlhood infatuation segued into serious love, I spent days shopping shoe sales, trying on dozens and returning home exhausted and sated by my newly found favorites.
As in any long-term relationship, my shoes and I changed over the years. They became more expensive and less comfortable as I became more demanding. I renewed my committment and became willing to give more. We moved into a less exciting, though no less loving phase. I adjusted my expectations and accepted that not only did four-inch heels hurt my widening feet immediately upon standing, but more importantly – they did not look good. Cheap shoes cut their stiff material into my heels and did not compromise over time. I began to experiment with better quality, defined arches, and wider toes. My initial fear that beautiful shoes were not meant for women my age faded as I discovered the elegance of two-inch heels and charm of patterns and off-beat colors. The harmony of comfort ratings and beauty emboldened my steps in a way that only a grown woman can understand. I am confident that my love for shoes will endure because I am willing to compromise in exchange for that feeling. Finding one perfect pair gives me a rush beyond those when our love was new.