I could be accused of taking the mickey if I said I needed another pair of boots, but the moment I saw these (or maybe it wasn't until I tried them on?) I knew I did. This despite the fact that the addition of the black&white boots I bought a week or 2 ago had brought my current collection up to 10 pair to get me through this winter -- but that includes 3 square-nosed ones: one black embossed velvet, one blue denim, and one motorcycle boots inspired butch pair, and square-noses are so last season or even the season before that; 1 punk inspired pair of extreme winkle picker ankleboots complete with spikes and metal heel that one can only wear when in a certain mood; and a pair of Pocahontas mocassin boots with feathers, fringes and bright beads that aren't very everyday either. And how often do I wear my hard pink, rose-embroidered cowboy boots, anyway? So I really only had 4 pair, and they were all high-heeled! And far too special for daily wear -- sitting in that shop, I suddenly realised I desperately needed a mundane, classic riding boot model in soft camel-coloured suede to stomp through the sleet and snow that are soon to come, or my collection would be woefully inadequate and wasteful in the sense that I would have spent a whole heap of money and still not have the means of keeping my feet dry and warm. I barely needed the 10% discount offer the salesperson dangled in front of me, "for our special customers such as yourself".
I had gone to the high street in search of a new winter coat. I'd had a slight accident with my old Benetton this weekend; and after careful consideration, I could suddenly understand where the protests of my family and the pitying looks I've been receiving from strangers when wearing my trusty old wax coat come from. It's falling apart. What can you expect from a coat that has been glued to your back since the early nineties, and that cost you 20 quid at Kenmare market? It's battered, tattered, ripped and torn and all the wax in the world isn't going to keep the wind and rain out now. With winter approaching fast, I found myself without a coat, and so off to the shops I went. But I couldn't find a coat I liked; wherever I went, it seemed all they had were these parka models with fake fur hoods and I don't fancy me one of those.
I don't know how I ended up in that shoe shop. But I do know that I'm my own purse's worst enemy.
I had gone to the high street in search of a new winter coat. I'd had a slight accident with my old Benetton this weekend; and after careful consideration, I could suddenly understand where the protests of my family and the pitying looks I've been receiving from strangers when wearing my trusty old wax coat come from. It's falling apart. What can you expect from a coat that has been glued to your back since the early nineties, and that cost you 20 quid at Kenmare market? It's battered, tattered, ripped and torn and all the wax in the world isn't going to keep the wind and rain out now. With winter approaching fast, I found myself without a coat, and so off to the shops I went. But I couldn't find a coat I liked; wherever I went, it seemed all they had were these parka models with fake fur hoods and I don't fancy me one of those.
I don't know how I ended up in that shoe shop. But I do know that I'm my own purse's worst enemy.
- Current Mood:
embarrassed - Current Music:'I Scare Myself" - Thomas Dolby
Comments
This year's been a very bad year for shoes, hasn't it? I don't think there have been all that many interesting designs, and during the long hot summer, it was flip-flops everywhere you looked. Then when the sales happened, and designer shoes came within my grasp (OK, even if obtaining a pair would still mean having to overstretch myself and face the prospect of a month or two on bread and water so as to be able to balance the books and assuage my feelings of guilt), I found to my utter horror and amazement that there really wasn't much choice there either. I remember leaving Jan Jansen's shop on the Rokin in Amsterdam in a state of acute depression, having made no purchase. Can we say, stuck in the 70s? One of Holland's top designers, and his shoes looked like they were produced for Oililly! And even now, with the new collections proudly displayed everywhere you go, I can't see that there's much to write home about. It's all so conservative, blah and bland!
But occasionally, in among the dross, there's a gem to be found - and usually in the unlikeliest places too. The boots I bought 2 weeks ago? I found them in a boutique in The Hague's red light district. You should have seen the rest of the stock! Classic hooker wear - gaudy, tasteless, kinky, shiny platforms and outright fetish boots. But the ones I got? Classy, elegant. No wonder they only had two pair when I stumbled over the threshold.
But as for the usual high street outlets...I've seen a nice enough pair of red leather boots with large metal push buttons down the sides in Dr. Adams', which I may get in the January sales unless I find something a little more enticing in London next week...And I saw a few shoe shops worth investigating further next time I'm in Brussels...
*mutter*
*comes back again* And another thing. Spike looks like he's wearing makeup in your icon. I would just like to point out, my Spike is not gay.
Yes, you're right. Bad day.
Which, on the plus side, is now over.
I heart you too, BTW.
:-)
Well, if you put it that way...*said person of the first instance stretches out their hands to said person or persons of the second instance imploringly and vows to make it to said convention even if ::gulp:: they have to sell all their shoes to raise the cash needed to attend said convention and meet with the aforementioned persons of the second instance as planned*
And another thing. Spike looks like he's wearing makeup in your icon. I would just like to point out, my Spike is not gay.
BWAH HA HA! ;-)
Just for that, I'll force you to look at that icon for the rest of the week!
Almost forgive you the icon. But - you want Spike in make-up, hun, if that's what floats your boat, s'OK by me.