I have two blisters the size of sand dollars slowly forming on the insides of my feet. I did not anticipate this; but then again, when it comes to clothing, I am an eternal optimist. Shoes a little too big? Wear two pairs of socks. Sweater shrink in the wash? Rewash it and shape it again. Boot zipper chafing? That's what Band-Aids are for.
The current welts are the products of a beautiful pair of camel shoes that were comfortable for two-thirds of the day, but have now exposed their true colors. I should have known. Aside from sneakers, most shoes never initially feel good - even flip-flops rub your toes the wrong way on the first couple wears. Thus all new shoes must be "broken in," a charmingly nostalgic term that brings to mind baseball gloves and Little League but which actually refers to establishing blisters on your feet and waiting until a hardened callus forms. "Breaking in" means your feet, not the shoes.
But as far as foot damage goes, these budding blisters are child's play. If we're talking war wounds, I'm a Vietnam vet. I recall a pair of puffy slides purchased in Iceland which bore an irresistible resemblance to clouds, but which offered nothing even close to cloud-like comfort in reality. Then there were the straw sandals of a few summers ago that made my feet bleed for several weeks before giving me scars that remain to this day. But the crowning jewel in this litany of pain would have to be my Swears. Sophomore year, on a different trip to Iceland (maybe all my foot problems would subside if I just stayed out of Scandinavia), I fell in love with some super-huge, super-wide shoes that reminded me of lily pads. After first learning how to walk in them (they are incredibly heavy, but I love feeling like I can crush small cities in a single step) I then suffered white-hot searing ankle pains for a week and a half. But the pain went away. A happy ending.
Exactly why would I wear shoes that rip my feet to shreds or necessitate repeated visits to a chiropractor? Because it's all part of the process - at first, the shoes might bring tears to your eyes with each wincing step, but once all the bleeding stops and the bandages come off, you'll be able to wear teetering stilettos or three pound shoes indefinitely. It's like getting a vaccine - it hurts and it might make you sick for a few days, but then you're protected for a whole year. Same deal.
Pick your poison - tourniquet tops, sky-high skirts, pinching push-up bras - but in every girl's closet lies one article of clothing that makes her look too damn good to care about pain. Crippling shoes are my drug of choice. I have heavy shoes, shoes I can't walk long distances in, and shoes I must rotate daily to avoid aggravating any particular blister. But like a junkie, I keep going back for more.
Boned corsets. Foot binding. Plastic surgery. Throughout history, beauty has always come at a price. Fashion and fractured bones are interminably inseparable - being so hip it hurts often leaves physical scars. Who didn't rip out their eyelashes the first time she used an eyelash curler? That perfect shade of blonde equals a good three hours in the salon. And I won't even get into waxing.
Personally, one of my favorite weekend pastimes is strapping on my most bone-crunching stilettos and guessing who'll be carrying me home at the end of the night. Needle-heeled hobblers might be my nemesis, but I just can't stay away. A friend of mine summed up this comfort conundrum perfectly: "Once," she said, "I had these pants that cut off my circulation and left lines on my body for two days... But I looked fabulous!" And isn't that really the point of it all?
