001 | My Shoes Tell Me I’m Growing

On my incredibly large shoe collection and learning to be sure.

I have a shoe problem, but I only recently lost my cobbler virginity. It was far more expensive than I was expecting, almost rivaling the price of classical virginity. I’ve never worn a pair of shoes so much, or thought of a pair so valuable, to have them sent to be recrafted, resoled, and brought back to life, despite owning more shoes than one should ever own in a lifetime. The collection is embarrassing and it says a lot more about me than my sense of style. It’s too much.

I carry a big bag to work, always looking stuffed, and I think people can tell I have too many shoes by seeing my stuffed bag on the subway. A big, stuffed bag is a clear sign of someone who owns too many shoes. A whole wardrobe sits in my bedroom with shoes neatly organized into baskets on every single shelf. I even have a pair of shoes I bought for my twenty-second birthday that anyone would think are fabulous (a beautiful pair of vintage silk mule kitten heels. Put all those words into eBay and you will be dropped into heaven on a screen) but I never wear them. They sit in a box on top of the wardrobe.

One internal war I’ve faced head-on in my adult life is my inability to be sure of anything and my collection of shoes is evidence of that. I’ve never understood how anyone is truly sure of anything. Growing up it would take me hours to figure out what to wear, mostly focusing on the shoes. I am so short, that to me the shoes make the biggest difference. There is a huge difference, in my deranged world at least, between an event that requires height in the shoe or not. I would consult others, look at photos from the venue to see what people wore in the past, and compulsively check the weather because the only thing worse than wearing shoes that don’t fit the theme of the venue is wearing shoes that don’t fit the state of the weather. Would wearing heels be too much? Would I feel too short if I didn’t wear them? Would I be uncomfortable not wearing socks? Is this an outing that requires a shoe to have a sock? What if I want to go on a walk after and there are cobblestone streets and it starts snowing?

My sureness expands past shoes too. I haven’t had a full time job in years, unable to be certain that one company is right for me. I went to an engagement party for my dear friends that have been together since high school and couldn’t stop wondering how they were so certain that they were each other’s life partners for eternity. Love at first sight has got to be a chemical reaction more than a sign that the person is surely the one for you. When I first adopted my cat, I admitted to my boyfriend while in bed late at night, back facing him and looking at a wall, that I was unsure if I chose the right one at the shelter and I also had no idea if I would love her as much as I loved my previous cat. (This was so silly and thinking about it now I can’t believe I would ever say that but I did. I love my sweet cat Bodega more than my shoe collection and I was being dramatic, but you get the point). It almost feels like I am lacking some magical female intuition that everyone else has. The worst phrase I’ve heard in my entire life is “when you know, you know” because I’ve never known anything to be one hundred percent true and factual, ever. We are constantly debunking things we thought were known in the scientific world, so how am I, someone who is not a scientist, supposed to sit here and say I know something and am sure of it?

This unsureness has engulfed reality until now and my shoes have helped me see a sliver of self growth, even if it is minuscule to the eye. I think self growth is a bit like going to the gym in this case. I see it, because I see myself every day, but others probably won’t see it for a very long time. I know my unsureness is getting a bit better because over the past two years, despite my collection, I’ve worn the same shoes almost every single day. They are old mule loafers and they’ve seen planes, offices, bars, and grocery stores. They sit by my front door, not to be mistaken as a part of the wardrobe full of my other shoes. They aren’t very fashionable, they aren’t expensive, and they are more similar to something you would see a grandpa wear than someone trying to make a statement or replicate someone with impeccable taste from the 90s, but I am still so sure of them. I am so sure of them, that even though they aren’t the best shoes in the universe, I would get them resoled because I am so sure I will love them in the future. I am sure of something and that feels good.