When I worked at McCall's magazine years ago, my nickname was "Imelda" for the file drawer full of shoes I kept on hand. That was for Imelda Marcos, wife of Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos, whose 3,000 pairs of shoes were the stuff of legend, and which I learned today, take up the entire second floor of a shoe museum in the Philippines.
Back then, I had only about six pairs, not 3,000. And now, I have only three pairs, two black and one brown, no heel higher than an inch and a half.
Last week the shoes gathered dust because I bopped around the office in my tennis shoes every day, due to a taped-up right foot. It was delicious. My feet felt fantastic — and no one gave me a second glance.
I'm aware that wearing tennis shoes in the office is a slippery slope, though. What's next? Slippers? Those big black shoes that grandmas used to wear in the old days? I've been telling myself to shape up. We must suffer to be beautiful, yes?
Which is all to say that I'm back to pumps and flats this week. It's the only way to go.