June 3rd, 2010
It’s happening. I think I’m compensating.
As you know, I have gone through a very emotional bodily loss. The more my life returns to normal, the more I notice this mark of change. I think, between my short hair and new physique, I look a lot like a 12 year old boy.
This is what I look like when I roll out of bed these days.
No rack, but I am proud of my bedhead.
Yesterday I discovered an amazing shoe store really close to my house. A man who designs high-end shoes has a little outlet in a nondescript strip mall. He sells his samples and overstocks for between $15-$45, which is quite a deal considering they retail from between $129-200+.
I pride myself on being sensible in many ways, and, before this, my pragmatism has definitely been reflected in my choice of shoes. I like my shoes comfortable, not too fussy, and reasonably priced.
But I am changing in so many ways. I may have lost not just my sensibility but my very senses when I put on these lovelies. They are so blue. And the leather is so creamy. And they cradled my feet so lovingly... And did I mention they were only $15 instead of $129?
I get it now, ladies. I get the shoe thing. I can’t say what it’s about for the rest of you, but here is the simple pleasure that these shoes have given me:
The rest of my body is a little hard to dress. I already showed you my torso, and even when I put on my falsies, there are a lot of neckline issues to contend with, particularly with my witchy radiation marks peeking out from under my clavicle.
I don’t feel particularly feminine between the short hair and the bod. These shoes (and the other pair I bought) scream girly girl.
I wore my new shoes out yesterday when taking my daughter to an appointment. The woman in the office has only ever known my cancer-self. She saw my shoes, complimented them, and said, “You seem like you are picking yourself back up.” I guess the shoes scream to the world that I’m getting my mojo back.
They come in beautiful pairs. You don’t have to be Freud to put that one together.
Wearing them feels like a social experiment. I wore my new lovely red shoes to my morning marathon of back-to-back cancer treatments, radiation and infusion. I got no less than three compliments on my shoes. It feels good to have the folks who poke and prod and zap me to see me as something beyond a cancer patient. And it makes the waiting room sit-ins so much more pleasant. Just look at that view:
Those are my red ones.
Then I remembered the wonderful graphic novel Cancer Vixen. The author, Marisa Acocello Marchetto, always made a note of which amazing shoes she wore to her treatments.
I get it now, Marisa!
And apparently it’s not just us Babes who use shoes as a way of declaring our humanity to the world.
As I was pondering the meaning of fabulous shoes and cancer treatment, this cowboy rolled into the waiting room of the infusion center.
My husband, who was completely unaware of the deep shoe thoughts flowing through me, said to him, “I like your boots. Are they snake skin?”
The man looked him in the eye and answered proudly. “Python.”
I know what he’s talking about.
This entry was posted on Thursday, June 3rd, 2010 at 2:29 pm and is filed under Fashion, Wellness. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.