So, I have small feet. When I meet someone new, unfailingly they remind me. “Geesh! You have small feet.” “What size shoe do you wear?” To my dismay, this is the ultimate ice-breaker.
More often than I would like to admit, I have had to tell someone under the age of ten years that I wear size 3 in children’s shoes. Even more embarrassingly, they usually reply with something along the lines of, “I wear size 6!” In fact, this happened just today.
You can see why what I am going to say now makes sense for someone who loves shoes.
I absolutely loath shopping for shoes.
It is a degrading experience for me to wander into the children’s department in Nordstrom or Target, but it is all I have. It was one of my darkest hours when I went into Stride Rite while looking for comfortable shoes for my trip to Europe a couple of summers ago. Stride Rite, you guys. You can’t come back from this stuff.
When I have my sister with me, I use her as a cover. “Do you like these, Kendal?” I ask from across the shoe display. I hold up the 3248039th bedazzled sneaker I have encountered in my quest of age-appropriate shoe options while I quickly scan the scarce selection of “classy” kids shoes. When I am with friends, I usually just avoid shoes completely or talk loudly about trying to find my sister some shoes for her birthday.
I am surprised I haven’t chucked a pair of sparkly, glow-in-the dark or heavily beaded shoes across a store yet or better, through a glass window. Maybe that would make me feel better. I could even sing,
“I bust the windows out your store
and no, it didn’t make my feet larger
I know I’ll always have these tiny feet
but right now I just want to scream”
(Okay, I have been watching a lot of Glee. Just watched this episode the other day.)
Because of this, it has always been a dream of mine to start a line of shoes for fabulous women with small feet. “Equal opportunity for Cute Shoes” would be our motto. Part of me wants to make the shoes specifcally for sizes 3-5 so that, you know, those normal-sized people can feel the disappointment in spotting wonderfully adorable, lovely shoes (see below) and realizing that they don’t come in their size. Whoops. Sorry!
I’m so mean. But it’s something I feel passionately about for some silly reason.
by Kaylie Hatos