She Thinks

For anybody who knows me or who has read this blog in the past (and knows how crazy I am about shoes)…this one will strike you as odd.  But it is the truth.

I HATE all the shoes with the ridiculous stiletto platforms that try to lure us into thinking that we can actually stand in a shoe sitting more than 6” off the ground…and then walk.

You know the ones I’m talking about…they look pretty at first glance, but they’ve been known to give women nose bleeds when they wear them!

The theory of course is that the platform helps to raise the front part of our foot off the ground enough to reduce the angle down from the 6” heel behind the platform.

But who are they kidding?

The whole combination just makes us walk on stilts without anything touching the damn floor!

And when I see women try to walk in them…I think they look like they’re either constipated (ya have to squeeze your tush really tight in order to stay upright in ‘em) or have had their feet bound since birth (shuffling along in 2” increments).

(Pause) (Breathe)

Ok.  Now that I’ve said it, I feel all the 54 years that I am.  And right now, that feels old.

Why?  Because when I was wearing a cute little shoe with a 3–*-” heel (not too long ago), I remember my mother saying to me …”how do you walk in those things?”  And she sounded old when she said it.

So I’ve become my mother.

But I’m standing by my hatred.

‘Cause I think they’re just too much shoe.

Honestly, how can you look at them and not think they’re bulky.

I mean come ‘on!?!  A platform bootie?

It looks like little foot tanks, or the boots they put on people who have had major foot surgery.

Or platform shoes that combine their bulkiness with animal prints?  Like we want lots of spotted patterns on our feet?

*Exception: some animal print shoes can be lovely with a simple outfit, adding just a bit of interest while making the whole look classy…and styling, as long as the shoes are an accent and don’t look like we just wrapped our foot in a live leopard.

Finally…and the end of my rant (I promise)…What is up with the large, bulky platform shoes that are COVERED with sequins, jewels or crystals?

It’s not enough that we’re towering off the ground, but have to be shooting off rays of light as we walk?

Maybe I am old.

Or I’ve just gotten to the point where I like to blend the pieces of my wardrobe together into one cohesive look, rather than having all the attention go to two gigantic coverings on my feet.

Who knows.  I’m so worked up now…I think I’ll put on my favorite pair of simple, classy, fuzzy slippers and curl up with all my new fashion magazines.

Maybe they’re showing the new line of 6” platform running shoes.

I like purses.

I have a lot of them.

Different shapes.  Different colors.  And…different sizes.

They make me happy.

But I must admit I tend to gravitate toward larger bags.

For me…size does matter (you knew it had to show up somewhere in this one).

I’m not sure why.  It’s not like I put more in a large bag than any other bag (the proverbial “evening” bag being the exception since you’re lucky to fit a lipstick and license in those).

I put the same stuff in every purse that I assume other women put in theirs.  Wallet, checkbook, phone, lip stick(s), Advil bottle (filled with a variety of pain relieving substances), pen, and reading glasses.

Oh…and tissues, card holder (with my She Thinks business cards), tic tacs and loose change of course.

And sometimes my e-reader.  (You never know when you’ll have the chance to finish a chapter.)

And a sweater or scarf.  (You never know when you might get chilled.)

I think a big purse makes me feel secure.  Like I have options.

Ya know…the option to carry more stuff should I have the need to pick stuff up and carry it somewhere.

Maybe it’s a girl thing.

Or a mom thing (God knows, we moms seem to carry a lot of stuff).

But there are women out there who use really small bags and seem to have everything they need in them.

I admire that.  I couldn’t do it.  But I admire them for it (it makes me think they must be VERY organized and efficient).

The other day someone (a guy) saw me with one of my big purses slung over my shoulder and asked me if I always carried my “luggage” around with me.

I wasn’t offended.  Guys don’t understand big purses.  They’re intimidated by them.  Like they’re scare of ‘em (or they’re scared of what they might find in them).

How many times have you heard a guy say “what do you carry in that thing?”

As if we carried a bunch of deep dark scary stuff like poisons or snakes or bags and bags of feminine hygiene products that we’re ready to whip out in public at any time.

But the bag in question wasn’t that big.  It was a hobo bag and it was just a bit stretched out from months of swinging it from my shoulder to the floor, or over into the backseat of the car, or onto the end of the banister where it lives when I’m at home.

But the comment did give me reason to take a good hard look at what had become my “go to bag”…and I was forced to admit that it did look BIG.

Or rather…long.   Months of daily use and abuse had caused it to look more like a woven laundry sack (albeit with a nice leather strap and matching leather bottom) than a stylish shoulder bag.

Not what I was going for.

Apparently I had become too lazy to change my bag and I had entered into a purse rut.

Normally, I love to change my purses to go with my outfits.   It’s part of the game of mixing and matching different colors and textures to make a full outfit, with purses adding another piece to the puzzle.

But over the course of the winter I seem to have ignored all the other bags lining the top shelves of my closet…and my one “go to bag” was obviously now showing the worse for wear.

I’m so embarrassed.

I guess I have no choice but to seek out one of the many big purses I have at the top of my closet, so I have the option to fill it with lots more stuff.

My initial thought for this topic was to try to think of any old people I’ve know, whom I consider to have aged gracefully…because the concept of aging gracefully is way too out there for me yet.

I’m just 54 ya know.  Waaaaaay too young to have to think about aging gracefully…yet.

And then it hit me.

There are people out there who are probably looking at me right now and judging whether or not they think I’m aging gracefully, or not.  OY.

But I’ve known for awhile now that the older we get…the older our definition of “old” becomes.  So logically, to a teenager, I’m old.  And for me, an older person is at least 100!

Typically, I think we define “aging gracefully” in terms of physical attractiveness as the primary benchmark. We look at people (mostly celebrities) and judge them as “holding up nicely” or still looking beautiful or handsome as they age, especially when they reach that turning point age of 60 or so.

Case in point… I was watching Helen Mirren at this year’s Academy Awards and was struck by how absolutely stunning I thought she was “for a woman of her age.”  Truly someone who was aging gracefully.  And then we googled her and found out that she was only 65!

I’m sorry Helen Mirren…you’re waaaaaay too young for me to be talking about how you’re aging gracefully!!!  I promise to wait at least another 10-15 years before commenting on it again for you.

And who didn’t start talking about Jane Fonda or Barbra Streisand at the Golden Globes or Academy Awards this year and do the same thing!?!

We appreciate people who still look good as they’re getting old(er).  And we’re terribly disappointed when they don’t.

As a society, we do it more for women than we do for men.  But men don’t get off the hook entirely.  We still like them to retain a certain ruggedness or sophistication as they age.   But there just isn’t as much pressure on them to retain their youthful appearance as there tends to be for women.

But it can’t just be about physical appearance.  It has to include our behavior.  Our style.  Our actions in the world.  The totality of who we are.

And so, I believe that aging gracefully must take practice.  It must take years to perfect.  You don’t begin to live gracefully once you reach a certain age.  No, it has to be a natural continuation of a life lived with grace.

As Fred Astaire once said, “Old age is like everything else.  To make a success of it, you’ve got to start young.”