I rarely wore heels with my husband. I never wore stilettos. Now, I want to have a presence in the world that says I survived, I will persevere, I will not be knocked down nor held down by what life has dealt me.
And the women who try on my shoes, and there have been many, they get that same look in their eyes, that look of confidence, joy, something magical—from a pair of shoes. They stand taller, look prouder, can’t believe they’ve done it.
Shallow? Yes. Judge us? Go ahead. We’re used to being judged.
I get judged for everything. I get judged for the clothes I wear, what I feed my kids, when I feed them, what’s in my refrigerator at any given time, what my children wear, what hours I’m home or not home, my travel schedule, my friends, my iPhone usage, my internet habits, my sleep patterns, my garden, the content of the obituary I wrote, how I carried myself at the funeral, whether I cry enough, my financial habits, whether I write enough about how much I loved my husband, my parenting, my mental health, and on and on and on.
So, judge my shoes. They can take it. So can I. I obviously put up with far worse.
And if you see me wearing my Loubi’s, don’t be afraid to ask to try them on. I will always say yes. I want you to know what it feels like to stand tall.
If you have a picture of yourself in my shoes, add it to the flickr group I created for the Sisterhood of the Traveling Louboutins: http://www.flickr.com/groups/louboutin/.