How Many Red Shoes Are Enough?

Just how many pairs of red shoes do you think it reasonable for a girl to have? One? Two? How about 17?

Quite a while ago Wittner, an Australian shoe brand whose page I liked on Facebook posed a question about closet space for shoes under a photo that featured quite a few pairs in the colour red. One fan asked in turn, ‘Why would you need more than one pair of red shoes?’

Foolish woman, I thought immediately. She obviously has no soul. (Pardon the pun. Sadly I don’t have any red soles either – Christian Louboutins, I mean.) But red shoes I have aplenty. The ballet dancer, played by Moira Shearer in the 1948 film The Red Shoes only had one pair – that was plenty for her. She couldn’t take them off and danced herself to death. The film was based on Hans Christian Anderson’s fairytale of the same name – the girl in that story had to get her feet chopped off to escape her doom.

Red is the colour of passion, love, joy, celebration and ceremony …

There’s just something about them that thrills me with delight. Red shoes have been my most beloved accessory, ever since I can remember. Red is the colour of passion, love, joy, celebration and ceremony. The word, in Russian, is close to the word for ‘beautiful’. It is also the colour of warning, anger, and danger (as the aforementioned doomed heroines found out). My shoes have never led me astray, however.

Click image and jump through to Polyvore for shopping detailsMy current favourite pairs are the red glitter Mary-Janes, and the red suede T-bar peep-toes. Both are by Wittner, incidentally. Once upon a time though I owned a pair of red three-quarter patent boots that I loved passionately. They had suede tassels that dangled at the sides, like boots that should properly be worn by a drummer-girl, or circus performer. Tragically, they went the way of all well-loved shoes: they wore out. Fortunately before my feet did. 

A Shopping Miracle

Last Saturday was the Grand Final of the Australian Rules Football competition. I wasn’t going to any house parties this year so I decided to watch it on tv at home. But supplies were required first.

Rain was forecast, but when I stepped out to do my shopping, prepared to wade against the tide of football-crazed fans (I live practically next door to the sports ground), it was gloriously sunny. I didn’t need an umbrella, I stupidly decided.

Little did I suspect that I was in for a series of unfortunate events.

I didn’t need an umbrella, I stupidly decided.

Everything was fine until I left the supermarket and saw that drops of rain were falling. I shrugged fatalistically, and crossed the road to the video library. As I waited to collect my DVDs, I chatted to Bartholomew the proprietor, a man I have known a long time. ‘It’s Melbourne,’ he drawled, ‘how could you come out without an umbrella? What were you thinking?’

‘I know,’ I replied lugubriously. 

When I exited, I saw it was a deluge. I stood under an awning for a moment, thinking to wait it out, but then Bartholomew rushed out waving a vintage umbrella. ‘Do you want to borrow this? A customer left it behind last winter.’ He waved off my profuse thanks. ‘Return it whenever you remember.’ Hmm, it was quite cute, black with a little wooden handle. Perhaps I would forget to return it for a long time. I set off.  

It was raining so hard my jeans were soaked within moments, and I ran for another awning. And then the strap of my handbag broke. Of course. What next? I examined the damage and realised it could fortunately be repaired with the aid of a pair of pliers, but that would have to wait. Right now, I would wait out the rain in the op shop that I was fortuitously standing in front of. It was an expensive charity store, with goods over-priced for their quality, so I doubted there was much chance I would be tempted by anything.

But – cue triumphant, heavenly sounding chord of music – I spotted something remarkable! A new pair of shoes: exactly the pair I had admired a week or two ago in the shoe store Wittner and dismissed because I didn’t really need them (or to spend $140 on them, more to the point). There they were, in all their leopard-spotted glory, IN MY SIZE, marked $15. It was Fate. I sighed ecstatically as I purchased them. 

Minor domestic disasters matter nought when it comes to shoe bargainry. 

Then I raced home in time for the football, ripped off my wet jeans, turned on the tv and discovered I had no channel seven, and two channel nines, and sat on the floor in my undies as I searched through the manual for instructions on retuning the sports channel. After that the downlight in the bathroom blew, and I had no replacement globes.

But it didn’t matter – I was still bathed in the light of shopping glory. Minor domestic disasters matter nought when it comes to shoe bargainry. (I did manage to repair the strap on my bag too.)

The Killer Thongs

These shoes tried to kill me on Monday. True story. I know they don’t look dangerous. They have no heel to speak of. They look so innocent, as though they’d never stepped on an ant and crushed it into oblivion in their life.

Souvenirs from Vietnam, by Majanh Handicrafts, they are entirely made of leather. I like the simplicity of their design: elegant curves, neat stitching, natural tan leather, the thin plait for the thong, no silly dingle-dangles. They are well-made, and the soles are quite solid leather. However, this makes them inflexible, and wear has simply made the undersides even more slippery. This is what makes them so inimical. And yet they are so pretty in their extreme minimalism (sigh), so easy, and convenient! I am loathe to get rid of them.

Knowing how slippery they are, I always climb up and down stairs very carefully. But on Monday it took only one moment for the right thong to take advantage of my inattention. My foot shot out from under me and down I went.

Fortunately I was almost at the bottom and didn’t suffer any serious injury, but this incident really brings new meaning to the term ‘fashion victim’.

Spring Instep

I’m celebrating the spring equinox today with a delicious pair of peachy pink leather sandals. This pair called ‘Alice’ is by Skin Hello Midnight, from the Through the Looking Glass collection. (Other quaint names include ‘Tea Party’, ‘White Rabbit’, ‘I’m Late’, ‘Important Date’, ‘Wonderland’ and ‘Snow Drop’.) They are actually from Spring 2012, but I bought them on sale during this past winter, and haven’t had a chance to kick my heels in them yet.

Today, inspired by Botticelli’s painting Primavera, I took these heels for an outing to the Royal Botanic Gardens, and photographed them in a lawn carpeted with white starry flowers (the coloured ones I added in). Aren’t they pretty enough to put a spring in your step? 

Je Ne Regrette Rien

Celebrating the Roaring Twenties in a Special Series

I have had my hair short for a while: the first bob was cut longer at the back but this new haircut has it quite short at the back, which I love. It is such a liberating feeling; so easy to style and fast to dry in the mornings.

But recently I was trawling back through the archives and came across a photo of my hair at its longest and I had to gasp at just how long it was. Mad. All one length, it was dull too, with nary a layer to enliven it. Mind you, I barely ever wore it out – I liked to have it long so I could put it up! And since that was the case, it may as well be short I thought. I have no regrets!