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An agony aunt resigns
Department stores
Best books [v6.0]
First days at university
I wish I'd written...
Londoners Diary (ES)
 
Party Girl
Sale Time Again
Snoozing at the Savoy
A Cut-the-Corners Christmas
Ill in Paris
Birthday Reins
A Little Princess
Nicer in Neice
Shush about Shoes
Same old Same Old
Pampering
I Need Tweed
Cupboard Love
Pants for the Memories
Braving the Sales
Run for your Life
The Reward Purchase
New York Beauty School
A Dress that Doesn't Bite
Present and Correct

Shush about Shoes

There's nothing more boring than women who go on about their love of expensive impractical shoes. Yawn yawn yawn. Or as the Americans say, 'This is getting old.' If you do have a predilection for the high and strappy, and I do, you should keep the fact securely under your hat or at the very least let the evening sandals do the talking for you. When you are sporting a particularly amazing pair and someone refers to the fact, you should affect a look of mild surprise as if you're not quite sure how they got there. Think of the young Judy Garland's startled expression upon discovering her brown leather farm shoes have been magically transformed into the ruby slippers of the wicked witch of the west. (Perhaps all fancy clothes need to be worn in this way, somehow accidentally, as though they are rather intriguing foundlings thrown on for a bet or a dare.) If you really need to say something more, never express interest or affection in the shoes you wear, but it is permissible, if pressed, to mumble a word or two about how comfortable they seem to be. On no account be like the Hollywood starlets I read of recently who complained about the sheer brutality of the shoes they choose. It just isn't right.

More and more it seems to me that any fool can transform a few twists of emerald suede and a couple of tortoise shell acorns into a little autumnal alter to femininity and elegance (and agony) , but it's the person who can fashion a glamorous shoe from sturdy leather in which you can walk nine miles in two hours in drizzle that is really worthy of our admiration and respect .

There now follows a sad story. On Monday my friend Rosa discovered such a pair of shoes in Miu Miu in Bond Street. Part loafer, part brogue, part court shoe, they were flattering, elegant, very mildly witty - in fact the perfect winter walker. It was love at first sight. Her walking shoes mean the world to Rosa. She feels about them the way other people feel about their cars. After all when it comes to travelling in London striding along the pavement is about the only reliable method. You can't get stuck in traffic or in a fuming tunnel or get drawn in to a fight on the bus or feel violated by the frenzied rant of a racist taxi driver when good walking shoes are your mode of transport, now, can you? When the deal was struck Rosa left the store to purchase a watch for her niece at the Swatch shop, and went to have some lunch. Then calamity struck. It suddenly became apparent to her that she did not have the shoes. She returned to the Miu Miu shop, but no news there. At the Swatch shop there was a different story. Realising a bag had been left the assistant had run after a different shopper and given the shoes to her instead. Pandemonium ensued. The woman who now possessed the shoes, it transpired, had been wearing a white coat and a full face of make-up as worn by beauticians who work on Clinique or Clarins cosmetics counters, the salesperson suggested (or by those who work in Marylebone's plastic surgery medical suites.) This narrowed it down only slightly Rosa was on a mission. She combed the seven local department stores to see if the description of the shoe snatcher matched that of any beauty therapists there. It did not. A call came through from the Swatch shop. They had the name and bank card details of the woman but the bank had informed them further details could only be released if the police became involved. The police became involved. Knowing the value of a good walking shoe they were sympathy itself but as no actual crime had been committed they could not help. Crestfallen, Rosa returned to the Miu Miu shop. There was only one thing for it - to take a deep breath and buy another pair. Somehow paying twice for one pair seemed to her better value than paying once for nothing. With regret the assistant announced that Miu Miu had no more of this particular shoe. Harrods, Harvey Nichols and Selfridges were all rung with no luck. She went home with a sense of loss. Without these shoes on her feet autumn and winter seem to her so much less promising.


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