by Diane Steinbach

Created on: April 06, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Does the Shoe Fit?

Some people say the clothes make the man, I think the shoes make the woman. This philosophy comes from years of personal research and long talks with my Mom. Very scientific I know, but my research may explain why women tend to have this fascination with shoes. They are not just matching an outfit. They are defining a moment in time. They are defining who they are, where they came from, and who they hope to be. Some get it right away; others take hundreds of pairs of shoes to understand it. Take my story for example.

As a child I wore saddle shoes. The black and white classic labeled me a nerd and an outsider to the kids at school and around the neighborhood. My mother proclaimed that I should let these bullies know that she, herself, wore saddleshoes, and that they just had no taste! Trying to convince Mom that would only make me more of a nerd was impossible. The shoes themselves could not solely claim responsibility for my nerdiness; I also stuttered and had a lisp. My teeth were crooked too, but to add braces to this already super nerd picture would have been a crime and may have resulted in me being labeled Poster Girl for Geeks. I somehow survived saddleshoes, speech therapy and social ineptitude to make it into high school.

In my late teen years I wore black shoes. It wasn't just the shoes that were black. I needed them to match the black shirt and pants. The ensemble helped me blend with the Rocky Horror Picture Show Midnight Movie crowd and the downtown Artsy folks that hung out at the coffeehouses. I didn't know back then that going to movies with subtitles didn't guarantee acceptance into the sub culture. My black shoes, I thought announced to the world that I was "deep" and that with them, I would fit in.

My mother didn't really appreciate my black phase. She thought I would
" look so pretty in yellow or pink." My mother tried to set an example for me by wearing bright colored clothes that declared " To Hell with Housework" and similar kind of sentiments. I would try to appease her occasionally by wearing regular brown shoes, and general -population colored clothing. None of it really fit right on me then, and back in black I would be within hours. Like my black shoes, I was a bit dark myself. My parents were separated and I had "teen angst."

Eventually, my black days ended and I slipped into yet more uncomfortable shoes. Flats, kind of dressy, but oh so painful. I wore flats because I was 5'9 and my fiancee' was 5'6. He basically

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