If the shoe fits, then buy it.

I don’t have many weaknesses. Well, I do, but let’s pretend that I don’t because a) that makes me seem more perfect haha and b) it adds punch to my opening paragraph. The one weakness I finds that tends to dominate my spine-tingling little existence more than any other is, well, shoes. That’s right, those little scraps of canvas and leather that protect your feet from dirt and wet and dog poo. Shoes. Skoene. Chaussures. Zapata.. Kutsu. Millinery. No wait that’s hats.

In any case, show me a pair of Manolo’s or Patrick Cox’s or...*drool* Marc Jacobs’ and my eyes will glaze over with something akin to carnal desire. I don’t list it on my resume, but my ideal ideal job would be as Marc’s muse. You know, getting paid to go to parties and wear Marc Jacobs clothes and shoes and be adorable and witty, while wearing Marc Jacobs clothes and shoes, which I get for free, in exchange for being an inspiration to Marc, thus leading him to new heights of genius, and to me receiving more Marc Jacobs clothes and shoes, which I would then wear.

Such shoes are so beautiful that they make me sad. Because I can’t have them. Well, I can, but then I can’t eat, be warm, or leave the house. Dang it. So, I have to become successful in life, so I can earn a good enough salary to justify the occasional unjustifiably expensive pair of shoes. I also want a job where I can where said shoes (no sneakers or workboots, although do have the cutest pair of dotted wellies). Honestly, whenever I watched SATC and Carrie had some sort of shoe related crisis (remember when she stole the shoes from the magazine closet?), I never once thought her plight seemed unrealistic.

I would probably never date a man who didn’t like my shoes- how could I possibly trust him? I could never be a Buddhist monk, or engage in any religion with “shoe issues”. I’m wary of barefoot hippies (although that could be more of a hygiene issue, tell truth). Bad shoes (stripper shoes, grey plastic loafers, dirty old plastic trainers, those chunky boots from 1997 that some people are still wearing damnit!) give me actual physical pain, deep in my gut, or sometimes just a headache.

Brogues, sandals, flats, heels, stilettos, boots, kitten heels, laced, Velcroed: apparently there are no limits to my love.

The problem is that I live in Japan, where you spend more time taking off your shoes and walking around in slippers that you do in actual shoe-wearage. Which is great for carpets, I suppose, and extending shoe life. But not so much fun for me. I await the day when I can wear whatever shoes I like, regardless of how practical they are for dealing with snow, and whether or not I will have to unlace them/ remove them more than seven times in an afternoon.

I don’t think that’s asking too much.

I don’t have a problem, I swear!