On a recent count-up of my over flowing shoes in my caving wardrobe, I had to ask myself, “How many, is too many?”
With over fifty-four pairs of going out/skyscraper heeled shoes all still in their original boxes, I decided that should I take them out of the box, the poor shelf that some of them were sitting on, may bounce back. So I set about, removing them from their ‘safe-place’ and began placing them back where they belong. It was however, just as I placed the twenty-something pair of black beauties back on display that I began to wonder how long it was since I had worn them and if at all, they would be worn again?
My love affair began with shoes when I was little girl, but their selling point was confirmed on a shopping trip with my mother for holiday clothes at sixteen. My legs had got longer, my hips definitely rounder, but my feet? My feet, had remained exactly the same. From then on, I saw them as an investment and soon realised that should I pick a pair that would always make my feet and legs look good, they would always be in fashion to me.
Ten years later, I still have a few pairs from my teenage years but seem to have acquired a few more. Fifty four pairs of heeled beauties adorn my wardrobe. But each pair have a purpose. Some make my legs look longer, some make my feet look smaller and some, are just works of art.
To me, shoes are inspiring and each one is a Van Gogh or a Picasso in the making. I keep each pair, believing that one day, I shall do them justice and take them for a night on the town. The truth is, I do think fifty four pairs is a little steep but it took his good self to tell me that until I have a clear out, I am not allowed to buy ANY more!
Of course, I defended myself and said that he was ridiculous and that every girl has lots of shoes, but if I’m honest, (and I’d never tell him) I think he’s right! Those shoes deserve to be worn. Keeping them in my wardrobe to open and admire each day is sacrilege. So I began laying them out on the floor… as a process of elimination. Some got to be walked up and down in, like some sort of catwalk show to the other shoes. Or to remind me how good they felt to wear. But by the last walk, some were placed in a pile of possible dismissal.
It took me four hours to sort them in to piles of keep and weep and I boxed up the unlucky for my sister. Placing them in the dining room I went back to my wardrobe to put the successful beauties away. Feeling ever so proud of myself that I had made the cut, I text himself to tell him of of my progress. But he laughed, reminding me that he had only the few pairs of shoes that he actually wore. But despite his not-saying so, I could tell he was impressed.
My sister came for dinner the next night and I stood with my glass of wine in the kitchen listening to the shreaks of excitement coming from the dining room as I told her to take what she liked. Jeans rolled up, socks on the floor, she paraded up and down on the kitchen tiles, her foot size changing from shoe to shoe as I declared what size the shoe actually was (she’s a 4 – I’m a 5/6, although she’d never admit it, for fear the shoes would be donated elsewhere!) It was great to see the excitement of someone else over the foot jewels I have carefully looked after since the day they were bought. I have to admit, it felt good. Not only because I have made my sister very happy, but because now there is room for new shoes!
And so I concluded, as long as you wear each pair or at least have the intention, they fit in the wardrobe or on top of it and you never declare or count up how many you own, a girl can never have too many shoes!