The Right to Shoes

 "You should sell your shoes on eBay," Andy said the other day.

 Pardonnez moi?!?

"Yeah," he said, assuming my look of shocked confusion must mean I'd misunderstood. "You should sell them. Make a little cash."

 Um, no.

First off, let me state that things are not so dire around here that we are auctioning off our belongings to make ends meet. I'm not sure what motivated Andy to suggest such a ludicrous notion such as me getting rid of my 20+ pairs of shoes. Although, it is true, I'm not a girl who likes excess. If something doesn't have a specific purpose in my life, I get rid of it. I try to live by the William Morris quote: "Have nothing in your house which you do not consider either beautiful or useful." 

As much as it pains me, the majority of my shoes never see the light of day anymore. During any given week, my footwear is limited to my monster snow boots and a pair of sensible Dansko sport clogs. If I'm feeling dressy, I'm more apt to grab my green Dansko clogs than a pair of heels or snappy flats.

But I'm certainly not ready to post my shoes on eBay just because they've become little more than dust magnets. There's really no reason to. After all, these are not nice shoes.

I mean, I think they're lovely . . . but it's not like I have a collection of Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks hanging out in my closet. The majority of my shoes are Target's finest, which is to say, I didn't pay more than $20 for them. That means I've invested just $400 in my collection of mostly useless (and worthless) shoes; not nearly as shocking as Carrie Bradshaw's realization in Sex and the City that she's spent $40,000 on her rather valuable shoe collection.

 

I mean, it would be great to have an extra $400 floating around right about now.  But it's not such a big amount that I'm going to berate myself over not investing those funds in, say, my retirement account. A girl has a right to shoes, doesn't she?

I hate that I fall into the cliches of "all women love shoes", but I do love them, so why fight it. The question is, why? Why have I been drawn to shoes during my early adult years like a moth to the flame?

There's definitely a certain amount of escapism associated with a pair of shoes.  Just think of where Dorothy got by clicking her heels together in her ruby slippers. Think of what befell Cinderella when she was hobnobbing around in her glass slippers. Since we were little girls, we were taught that a pair of shoes has the ability to not only protect our feet from a bumpy, rocky road, but to literally transport us to different worlds.

My black pumps make me feel confident and professional. My red shoes are all about sass and good times.On the flip side of the coin, my hiking boots just make my feet feel real heavy.    

The shoes hold memories too. There's the pink slingbacks I bought on Oxford Street to wear to High Tea at the Ritz. The green shoes I bought on my way home from work on day in London. The pink shoes I wore to a friend's wedding.

Then there's that never ending quest to find the pair of shoes that perfectly compliments a new dress or outfit. I've bought at least three pairs of shoes to specifically match a single sundress and still haven't quite found the right match yet. 

So get rid of my dusty pile of shoes?

Never.

I might need them someday.

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Investing In Yourself

You might have noticed that over the last couple days, the markets have been a bit . . . volatile. To put it mildly.

As the person who did the big grown-up thing and put a chunk of her savings in Roth IRA at the beginning of the world, all this economic drama, drama makes me feel kind of like this:

I feel like I go over this all the time, but I'm constantly struggling to determine if the pennies I manage to squirrel away are better utilized by being tucked into long term savings or spent on an airline ticket. Security or experience? Experience or security? Hard to know which is really the truest investment in yourself.

If I opt for security, I  get a posh nursing home room with a great view. If I opt for experience, I get to be the kookie lady who pulls her great-nieces and nephews to her and croaks, "Did I ever tell you about the time I met Prince William." (Obviously, in my old age, I'll be a bit demented.)

We've reached that point in the summer where anywhere, anything sounds better than blah, blah everyday I currently exist in. During last week's hot snap, I took to checking the forecast for London (England). Highs in the 60s! I almost cried!

Then the bimonthly newsletter from the London Ritz Hotel showed up in my inbox. I've received the newsletter since having tea at the Ritz 3+ years back and I've never bothered to unsubscribe. I enjoy a bimonthly dose of unattainable luxury.  And as I read through the Ritz's newly announced tea menu, it was all I could do not to get over to kayak.com and start searching for the most affordable flight.

(Granted after this week's senseless rioting in the U.K., London kind of slipped down on my list of dream destinations, at least until they've all settled down. . . . maybe time for Australia. It's winter there right now, right?)

In an ideal world, we're able to invest in ourselves fully: to opt for both experience and security. But in a crap economy, with a schizophrenic Wall Street to contend with, it's easier said than done.

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