At 36, my philosophy on footwear is simple: a good shoe should be comfortable and chic. A good shoe should not pinch or rub, squeeze or squeak. It should be fashionable and functional. A good shoe can be worn with multiple outfits, reliably enhancing each.
Since I am writing from Berlin, there is a German saying “Wo drückt der Schuh?” meaning which area does the shoe hurt, aka what’s bothering you?
Well, I’ll tell you. There are two things; firstly, the fact that summer is almost here and I’ve yet to find a nice pair of sandals and secondly, I had to return my situationship.
New shoes
It first occurred to me as I tried on a new pair of sandals from Miista.
They are beautiful; a low platform with black patent leather straps, embossed with silver eyelets and a delicate buckle around the ankle.
I pair them with vintage denim short shorts and look at myself in the mirror. They make my legs look long and slender, they are neither too masculine nor too feminine, the platform is just the right height.
The problems come as I start to walk around the apartment; a gnawing pain at the ankle that I can't ignore.
I set about researching some kind of inserts I can buy to stick inside the shoes. Following an ill-advised Google search, I fashion a wad of padding out of plasters and attach it to my foot. This works for a few seconds, until it doesn’t.
Reluctant to admit defeat, I stand gazing at the sandals in the mirror, willing their appearance to overcome the pain.
A chance encounter.
Last weekend I met a charming stranger.
He was German, and I’ll give you three guesses at his name: Mauritz, Florian, Tobias. Let’s say Florian.
Florian was very tall. He was in his early 40s. He spoke to me in German: “Have I seen you in a magazine, are you an actress?” Obviously I liked this, almost as much as I liked the fact that he ran me down the second I stepped out of my front door. I hesitated to give him my number because I was caught off guard in my pink jeans and smudged red lipstick but then he told me he was a boxer and who am I to pass up a cute boxer at my door? So I did.
A few days later he asked me if we were still good for a date and I said no.
“Is there something I could have done differently to have made this work?” he asked and for some reason I began to cry. “No.” I told him “It’s all on me.”
Another chance encounter.
The day before, I was on the M1 tram en route to my favourite vintage store when I glanced out of the window and got a bit of a shock. There was Crazy Chris, walking down my street with another woman.
Despite what I wrote two essays ago, Chris ended up texting me and we continued seeing each other for another four heady weeks. Five, if you count what happened the second time we ended it.
A lot of the time, regarding dating and anything for that matter, my friends and I say, “Do it for the story,” but sometimes the story just happens to you. This was the case that day on the tram and I can now tell you firsthand, the feeling that accompanied seeing Chris with someone else was so unpleasant, it gave me the urge to climb out of my own skin.
Of course he said that she was just a friend and of course, I didn’t believe him.
This is the problem with the lack of definition in a relationship.
One week he’s all “Baby, baby, baby,” the next, you’re wondering do I have glandular fever or syphilis.
“Baby, baby, baby” becomes “Are you my baby? Are you my baby? Are you my baby?”
“Are you my baby?” suddenly becomes “Are you mine? I want you to be mine.”
And something that is supposed to be carefree and cool quickly becomes the opposite.
A bad situation
Staring at the lethal black sandals that I’d do anything to make mine, my eyes scan up my legs. I notice that if I am suddenly looking extremely thin and have come to realise that when this happens I’m either in a bad situation or I’m broken hearted.
The tram incident was the last in a succession of unfortunate events revolving around Chris.
To briefly summarise;
The bruise on my body he accused of being a love bite was not.
The selfie I posted on instagram in my pink jeans and crop top was taken solely for that purpose, not intended for anyone else.
The playful slap he gave my face when I asked if he was on coke one night pinched like the sandals.
When I called him out on all of the above he said he was joking and I was taking his words and actions too seriously.
Friends of mine said that the previous essay I wrote about casual dating must have gotten into his head.
But I have no regrets about what I wrote and stand by the sentiment.
Casual dating works when there isn’t any doubt that’s all it is.
“I feel overwhelmed,” I said to my friend the day after Chris had asked me for an hour straight in bed if I was his baby.
“But it was hot, no?” She said.
Regrettably, and for what felt like the 100th time on the matter, I said yesss.
A glass slipper.
When we agreed to call it quits, “You don’t trust me and I don’t trust you, so what’s the point?” I also asked to go no contact. He texted me three days later asking if he could pick up a water bottle he had left at my place. I told him it was outside my front door and blocked his number.
It's been 2 weeks and each day I come home to see it sitting there, a reminder of someone who kept asking. Someone who hurt in all the places I thought I could cover with plasters and padding. Someone I knew that if I had carried on seeing them, would ache wherever I walked.
I could have kept on wearing the pretty lacquer sandals. Could have kept on seeing him.
But trust applies to people who agree to fuck each other—not fuck with each other. Sometimes what we want and what we want something to be are two very different things.
I suppose what we all need is a glass slipper; something transparent; something that fits.
I could drain the story of Cinderella for all she is worth. Transformations do take place at midnight, someone is always left running.
But we all know fairytales are not for the faint hearted and neither is dating.
So best keep it simple;
Either the shoe fits or it doesn’t.
This piece was edited by the brilliant
.
I love shoes and relationships; I recently wrote a comparison of them too. I love love the line “sometimes the story just happens to you” 👏
❤️ let’s dance barefoot in the sand ❤️