Thursday, September 17, 2009
In my life P.B. (pre-Bob) there where two questions I would ask myself before buying a pair of shoes, “Are the heels at least 3" high?” and “Do I love them so much I want to marry them?” I did not do sneakers. Since having a kid, I have only one shoe buying criteria, “Wearing these, can I get across the playground fast enough to keep him from ingesting the rest of that handful of sand?”
I bought a pair of Skechers last year. They seemed cute enough for sneaker-y type items. I wore them for a couple of months. Then I bought them in two more colors – not because I wanted to marry them, or even have coffee with them, but because I already knew they would fit and I could order them online and Zappo’s was still doing that free overnight shipping thing. That's my style.
At first I got a lot of compliments on my Skecher trio, mostly from older women. By older, I mean 40-ish years older than me. Lately I have noticed many of these gals actually rocking my shoes. Gals with track suits and visors. Gals using those canes with the four little legs at the bottom. Gals with those big sunglasses they make you wear over your regular glasses after cataract surgery. I get it. I have geriatric sneakers. Three pairs. I am too cheap to turn back and buy replacements but obviously I am styling with the social-security-plus crowd. My feet are honorary Golden Girls.
After purchasing these shoes, it also came to my attention that Ashlee Simpson is the spokesperson for this particular style, which of course has its own perils.
I’ll stick with the Betty White crowd.