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I have a Thing about shoes.
No, not the stereotypical woman's Thing about shoes. Buying shoes ranks approximately one millionth on my list of favorite things to do. I wear my shoes, quite literally, to pieces. I walked around for six weeks this summer with a hole in the bottom of my sandal, inadequately fixed with duct tape. Then I got the sandals resoled so I wouldn't have to buy new ones. On my lone pair of pumps, the heel is worn down to the plastic underneath the sole. I'm pissed off about it because I only bought them, like, a year and a half ago and I wasn't supposed to have to buy new pumps for a long time. My sneakers are worn down so that the undersole is exposed. My loafers have come partly unstitched. Every pair of shoes I have needs to be replaced, except for the resoled sandals and my hiking boots.
I've been telling myself not to go shopping for shoes because we're trying to be careful with our money, but that's so obviously an excuse that it doesn't even fool me. We don't need to be so careful with our money that I have to wear broken shoes. And I have vast quantities of untapped credit.
I don't like shopping for things to wear in general, but my Thing about shoes is pretty clearly a disability thing. Even now that I'm less disabled than ever, I have to buy shoes that I can wear with my custom orthotics, one of which has a half-inch heel lift. My shoes need to be big enough that I can fit the orthotics in, but not so big that they fall off my feet. They need to have non-slip soles because my balance isn't great. They need to be able to handle the extra weight of the orthotic without coming apart.
Some kinds of shoes, I can buy ordinary kinds. My sneakers and hiking boots came from ordinary stores, have plenty of room for the orthotics, and stay on my feet. They fit fine. But women's dress shoes are an entirely different matter. I can't wear orthotics in my pumps, so instead I wear a little rubber heel wedge as a compromise solution. You can't buy dress shoes in an ordinary store that will fit some big hulking plastic thing.
All summer I wore my sandals and didn't worry about not having any proper dress shoes. (I wore the worn-down pumps for my dissertation defense, and they were fine for a couple of hours.) But today I had to choose between the worn-down pumps and a pair of dress shoes that aren't worn out but don't fit very well. I chose the pair that don't fit very well, and I've been slipping around in them all day, and enough has become enough.
I just put in an order for these, from the same orthopedic shoe company that made my sandals. I've spent the hour since I placed the order wanting to cry. And I know that I'm going to have to do this again and again. I have to replace my loafers. I need new sneakers. I can't keep making do with broken, worn-out shoes.
Why, if I'm so goddamned well-adjusted about every other aspect of my disability, is it so fucking hard for me to buy a pair of shoes?
No, not the stereotypical woman's Thing about shoes. Buying shoes ranks approximately one millionth on my list of favorite things to do. I wear my shoes, quite literally, to pieces. I walked around for six weeks this summer with a hole in the bottom of my sandal, inadequately fixed with duct tape. Then I got the sandals resoled so I wouldn't have to buy new ones. On my lone pair of pumps, the heel is worn down to the plastic underneath the sole. I'm pissed off about it because I only bought them, like, a year and a half ago and I wasn't supposed to have to buy new pumps for a long time. My sneakers are worn down so that the undersole is exposed. My loafers have come partly unstitched. Every pair of shoes I have needs to be replaced, except for the resoled sandals and my hiking boots.
I've been telling myself not to go shopping for shoes because we're trying to be careful with our money, but that's so obviously an excuse that it doesn't even fool me. We don't need to be so careful with our money that I have to wear broken shoes. And I have vast quantities of untapped credit.
I don't like shopping for things to wear in general, but my Thing about shoes is pretty clearly a disability thing. Even now that I'm less disabled than ever, I have to buy shoes that I can wear with my custom orthotics, one of which has a half-inch heel lift. My shoes need to be big enough that I can fit the orthotics in, but not so big that they fall off my feet. They need to have non-slip soles because my balance isn't great. They need to be able to handle the extra weight of the orthotic without coming apart.
Some kinds of shoes, I can buy ordinary kinds. My sneakers and hiking boots came from ordinary stores, have plenty of room for the orthotics, and stay on my feet. They fit fine. But women's dress shoes are an entirely different matter. I can't wear orthotics in my pumps, so instead I wear a little rubber heel wedge as a compromise solution. You can't buy dress shoes in an ordinary store that will fit some big hulking plastic thing.
All summer I wore my sandals and didn't worry about not having any proper dress shoes. (I wore the worn-down pumps for my dissertation defense, and they were fine for a couple of hours.) But today I had to choose between the worn-down pumps and a pair of dress shoes that aren't worn out but don't fit very well. I chose the pair that don't fit very well, and I've been slipping around in them all day, and enough has become enough.
I just put in an order for these, from the same orthopedic shoe company that made my sandals. I've spent the hour since I placed the order wanting to cry. And I know that I'm going to have to do this again and again. I have to replace my loafers. I need new sneakers. I can't keep making do with broken, worn-out shoes.
Why, if I'm so goddamned well-adjusted about every other aspect of my disability, is it so fucking hard for me to buy a pair of shoes?
no subject
If it's any consolation (and no, I don't really expect it to be), I have a similar Thing about buying underwear, particularly bras. I have a reasonably realistic body image, but every time I notice that my bras are falling apart, I get all panicky about how imperfect my body is. I suppose my point is something along the lines of, "It's ridiculous to have these Things, but at least we know we're doing it, and at least it's channeled into these relatively nonpernicious areas." Tell you what--you buy my bras, and I'll buy your shoes, and then we'll buy each other therapeutic tea and chocolate.
no subject
Actually, it is some consolation, because it makes me feel like less of an oddball freak. Thanks.
no subject