As a woman of a certain age (26) I like to think that I follow fashion to some extent and have established my own sense of style. I know what I like (stripes or khaki green anything) and what I don’t like (baggy clothes or anything with a motivational phrase strewn across it). There have been key moments in my life where I’ve purchased or been given certain items of clothing or shoes that made me feel a million dollars; that made me feel sassy, but not necessarily, comfortable.
But who needs comfort when you have style darling?!
Well, I’ve come to realize, that now, I do. I would always wear something even if I knew it would give me blisters or not keep me warm or it would chafe on the armpits (I’m not a stocky girl but I do have surprisingly wide shoulders for my frame).
Hours spent walking around the city centre in my calf length 100% leather boots with a heel (think Puss-in-Boots rather than Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman).
Why god why?! WHY THE HEEL! My feet are on FIRE! Damn the texture of the pavement, I can feel every stone! Every slab! Every bobble of the textured flooring at pedestrian crossings! Every piece of gravel is a potential obstacle that if trod on could send me ankle over tit in an instant. WHY!!!!
“Because they make your legs look even longer and your feet less canoe like” inner Sarah shouts at me.
In my youth I remember my feet bring ripped to shreds because it was jelly sandals or nothing at Pontins in 1996. Oh yeah, like I was going to go to the family clubhouse in trainers with plasters protruding out the back and sides. Whatever Mum!
Weeks of being utterly freezing walking to University because I wanted to show off my new floral dress and waist belt (remember them!) and wearing a coat wouldn’t be an option. I’m not going to deprive the people of Coventry city from seeing my outfit!
Then something changed. It was Sunday morning and we were getting ready to walk down to the farmers market in the village. It was a beautiful sunny morning and I woke up and thought BOOM.
Stripy t-shirt, skinny jeans, sunglasses, curly hair and my new khaki green espadrilles with my dark toe nail polish to finish.
I put this outfit together and felt a million dollars. As I was pacing around the house getting water, my bag and checking the doors were locked, I could feel the new shoes rubbing. Only slightly rubbing. The shoes and my feet were getting a bit too friendly for my liking. I could see where this relationship was heading. They were flirting now, but soon they would be straight up heavy petting…and it was going to hurt.
“It’ll be alright it’s not too far to walk. These shoes need their debut!” inner Sarah whispers to me (the cow!)
But then something strange happened. The moons aligned in a parallel universe. Time stopped. I walked to the shoe cupboard and slipped my feet out of the beautiful (but pinchy) espadrilles. I put some socks on and put on my Nike trainers. They didn’t really go with the outfit. You couldn’t see the toe nail polish. But they are so, so comfortable. And off we went.
“You’ve changed. ……..Basic Bitch!” inner Sarah snaps at me.