I love my feet. I love my long monkey toes. I love how the second toe sticks out farther than the big toe. I love how I can pick up unlikely things – toothpicks, nickels, potato chips – with my toes. I love to spend hours grooming my feet, grinding away at calluses, scraping the gunk out from underneath the nails.
I love that my feet are strong. I’ve trained them to tread silently. I’ve trained them how to land and jump silently (the trick is to land toes-first, then let the knees buckle slightly, then bring the rest of the foot down, circling the outer edge, ball to heel). They are the greatest weapon in my arsenal of ninja skills and yet, if I feel like making a racket on the second floor, I can walk as heavily as a grog-sodden pirate (the secret is to do the exact opposite of the silent ninja walk).
To honor my feet, and because they were on a fabulous sale, I purchased a new pair of Converse low tops. There they are, right there in the picture.
I understand – objectively — that my new shoes have two major drawbacks. The first is the problem with every pair of Chuck Taylors ever created: they make your feet look huge. I think it’s because of the black stripe running around the edge of shoe. It has a lengthening effect, kind of like how wearing vertical stripes are supposed to make you look taller and thinner. The term “clown shoes” jumps to mind.
The other, perhaps more implicating drawback is the hipness associated with a pair of Chucks. I went on this shopping trip with my good friend F, who is herself a fan of Converse but who has an affinity for the high-tops. In fact, she has a pair of turquoise and lime green high tops which make me swoon.
“I can’t pull off high-tops,” I said, after leaving the Converse store.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Like, if I wore them, it would look like I’m trying too hard.”
“But low-tops are okay?”
So, all day today I’ve been walking around in my infinitely comfortable Converse (no breaking in required!), wondering if I look like some totally square chick who’s desperately clinging to her youth via hip footwear. Or, am I simply young and hip?
*This is a very vague approximation of the conversation. Sorry, F.