Anne Whiting

Carrie Bradshaw said she came to New York City in search of ‘two L’s’: labels and love.

I, a woman equally as entrenched in New York fashion, have found that the searches are similar, except that shopping these days is a lot more digital.  Dating in the City is like shoe shopping till you drop…online.  Truly, on rare evenings when I remember I have a dating app and feel like checking out a new collection of eligible bachelors, I refer to the activity of swiping left and right as ‘going shopping.’  For as promoted ads infiltrate our web browsers at a rapid, capitalistic pace, so there are also daily new matches on Happn.  Each presents a swamp of options so numerous and expendable that investment in a single man or a single pair of shoes seems next to impossible, even if my credit card and my capacity for love and/or heartbreak are all but completely maxed out.

6.14.Slide

Purchase Valentino Patent Leather Rockstud Slingbacks here!

It is perhaps in this way that dating apps have trivialized and dehumanized the journey of finding love.  It’s not me.  It’s Tinder: Tap.  Swipe.  Add To Cart.  Return Order.  Same Difference.

Consider this metaphor:

You’re shoe shopping, and you come across a pair and absolutely love them.  They’re comfortable, well-designed, embellished, original, complement your existing wardrobe.

Swipe right.

But maybe you want to order and try on a few more options before you settle and cash in on your savings.  Check out reviews.  Wait for a promo code.  Maybe there’s something else even more perfect out there.  If you don’t explore a bit, how will you know?  And so, you visit some more brands and try on some other pairs.  A bit of debate is essential to smart and well-considered choices, right?

Swipe right or left on a couple more options.

Of course, you risked deciding on the first pair after all.  But by the time you return to them they’ve been snatched up by someone else in your absence, while you were off being indecisive and unappreciative and trying on all the other shoes which were fun but which you knew in your heart you were probably not going to buy.

And now you have to live with a different pair—not lesser, just different—which I suppose you will learn to love.

No regrets.

I don’t (or do I?) mean to reduce men to footwear, though it turns out I’m not the first to do so.  The other day (and I swear it was the first time) a song came on my radio, in which I heard Shania Twain effectively encapsulate my thoughts for this essay in a few concise lyrics:

‘Men are like shoes

Made to confuse

Yeah, there's so many of 'em

I don't know which ones to choose

There's the kind made for runnin'

The sneakers and the low down heels

The kind that will keep you on your toes

And every girl knows how that feels…’

Indeed, our relationships with the men we have dated are not unlike our relationships with shoes (ignoring the fact that male humans can talk and—apparently—feel).

Think of that worn-in pair of Birkenstocks that you come back to when other shoes hurt too much.  Always comfortable and relaxed, never pretentious.  Kind and high-quality.  Probably married by now.

Or those Louboutin pumps you were so proud of: gorgeous, brand name, the supposed ultimate shoe, but they hurt so bad to stand in.  Too high maintenance.

And then, of course, that one infallible pair of M.Gemi loafers—so perfect for a few seasons.  Sometimes you wonder why you let those go.

Accidental Swipe Left.

Or, what about that one outrageous pair of shoes you loved in college: too expensive, totally impractical and painful—but then again, young love can be nonsensical.  They promised a life of excitement and originality, even though you absolutely could not walk in them.

For me, that was my college boyfriend.  He was not worth the pain.  So desperately enamored with that ‘pair of shoes,’ I was able to break them in a bit, but in doing so almost permanently damaged my feet.  (I guess I damaged the shoes, too, by continuing to walk poorly in them and trip everywhere.)  They proved themselves to be low-quality and—or perhaps I just grew up—in quite bad taste.  And there were too many other shoes out there to settle for unceasing podiatric pain.

Block User.  

Grey.Line.7

Our relationships with the men we have dated are not unlike our relationships with shoes (ignoring the fact that male humans can talk and—apparently—feel).

Grey.Line.7

Sometimes you make a fashion faux pas, and need the intervention of the fashion police, A.K.A. some good and honest friends.

Of course, a little toe pinch here and there is bearable if, for the most part, they’re a good pair because you always feel amazing when you put them on.  Nothing’s perfect.  Sometimes, your favorite shoes will need shining, maybe some cobbler work.  You’ll slip up, and have some damage to repair.  Other times it’s unfixable, and you have to go shopping again.  Some shoes just wear through.

I wonder what footwear I’ll try out next.  Havaianas flip flops?  Vans sneakers?  Stubbs & Wootton slippers?  I think of Cher from Clueless and her famous defense of her virginity:

‘You see how picky I am about my shoes, and those only go on my feet.’

As I attempt to hone and define my personal style, I’m looking out for the shoe I don't know exists but which I won’t be able to leave the store without.  

Love at first click.  ‘Congratulations, it’s a match!’

Anyway, I just moved coasts, swapping New York boots for L.A. sandals.  Recently when I took off my shoes to walk on a California boardwalk with my mother, she remarked concernedly how ‘horrible’ and ‘sad’ my poor, bruised, blistered, and cracked-heeled feet look.  I guess I’ve been prancing around the sidewalks of NYC in a lot of bad shoes.

I need a foot rub.

So I’m out healing the blisters, and am beginning to understand the kind of arch support I need.  I’ve had a lot of glamorous fun in pointed-toe heels, and stilettos will always be at the bottom of my suitcase.  But my feet ache from the footwear mistakes—no, abuse—no, adventures—I’ve made over the past few years since leaving college and embarking on the journey of my early twenties.

Not sure what kind of shoes I want next.

For now, I’ve chosen sandy beaches over pavement.

Sometimes, you just need to be barefoot.

 

Anne Whiting is a bSmart contributing writer passionate about art, fashion, sustainability, and businesses that give back. She is the designer of the label Anne James New York and the author of the blog aninconvenientwardrobe.tumblr.com.

 

Comments (5)

  1. Katherine Ray

Love this!

 
  1. Marit E.

As always, on pointe <3

 
  1. Anne Whiting    Marit E.

Thanks Marit !! <3

 
  1. Meagan Hooper

So so poetic and funny Anne Whiting.

 
  1. Anne Whiting    Meagan Hooper

Thank you Meagan you are so sweet!!

 
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