leave your shoes by the door

don’t take this the wrong way, but: we should all be looking at peoples' feet more often

Hey, stranger.

On our 3rd date, Michael pointed to where I’d kicked off my shoes by his doorway and laughed, “you did that the first time I met you, too.” He remembers how I’d come in from the gym, slid my shoes off and left them overturned, before introducing myself to the friend of my roommate seated on the couch. That friend turned into a boy I was seeing who turned into a boy I was, and still am, in love with.

He and I could not be more different in regards to the shoe situation. I often discard them first thing once I’m in the door, impatient to get them off of me. Michael unlaces, un-scuffs, and places each pair of shoes neatly in a row, meticulous as always when it comes to his belongings. On that 3rd date he explained to me, while seated next to each other on the train headed downtown, “I think the shoes people choose to wear say so much about the type of person they are.” At the time, I didn’t agree. Who gives a fuck about the shoes someone is wearing? I thought. My eye was always drawn to someone’s jewelry or coat as an indication of their personality.

My beloved black knee high boots <3

As it turns out, reader, I think shoes are an excellent indicator of who someone is. What’s lovely about footwear is that it can play as big or as small of a role in your outfit as you want. You want to wear beat up sneakers with every outfit? Go ahead. You want to add beautiful little kitten heels to an otherwise boring outfit? Go ahead. Are your shoes in pristine condition? Are they scuffed and worn down? Are the soles taken care of? Do you regularly see a cobbler? How many pairs of shoes do you own? Are they colorful or neutral? So many options for how you choose to carry yourself through the world.

This past Sunday at 4pm I was inside of a relatively empty club downtown, holding hands with a guy I just met and spinning in circles. We were giggling like schoolchildren and jumping around so fast the rest of the room blurred into a kaleidoscope of mirror reflections and strobe lights. He was covered in glitter, wearing an all black ensemble including briefs, a baby tee, and cowboy boots. I was day drunk from tequila shots and just a little bit sunburnt, wearing a baby pink dress and blue Adidas. We looked like the poster children for a Girls and Gays event. In fact, that’s how we met just a few hours earlier: somehow, someway, we found ourselves carrying the banner for a funeral home’s in the Salt Lake City Pride Parade at 11am. It’s not a long story, actually, but let’s pretend it is. He wore those cowboy boots all damn day, and god, they looked fantastic.

The aforementioned blue Adidas

On my 3rd week in Salt Lake City, I saw a girl sitting alone at a wine bar, reading Tower of Dawn, wearing red leather boots. I knew we would be friends, on account of the boots and her choice of reading material. We struck up a conversation and have since become fast friends (she happens to also be a talented writer—

allie wisniewski

hey girl), the type of connection where I leave after hanging out with her and am shocked at how well we seem to click. This is a beautiful, and rare, thing. We got drinks last Tuesday after work— picture this: it was 70 and sunny, a patio full of people at 7pm, truly perfect— and both ordered a sparkling red wine, ranted about people who think reading fiction isn’t important and how we love a summer evening walk and vintage dresses and got excited about being the same shoe size. The last piece I wrote was a soliloquy on loneliness and here I am, a few weeks later, feeling very lucky to have made friends. It’s all because of the boots.

I went to an interior design showcase recently, which is also not a long story but we can pretend it is, and spent most of the evening staring at people’s feet. Partially as a way to distract myself from the discomfort of not knowing anyone at the event and partially because I was curious what shoes people would be wearing. Earlier that week, I noticed that everyone at my office only wore tennis shoes or Birkenstocks, so I went to the event practically desperate to see some creativity. I was not disappointed. The designer who’s work was being shown wore 6 inch platform boots. The man playing the saxophone had these brilliant brown leather brogues on. There were women in pointy alligator slingbacks and jewel encrusted stilettos and chunky clogs. I was wearing a pair of white Italian slides. Some people’s shoes were sharp, cold and their personalities matched. Others’ were creative, funky, inviting and I found myself drawn to their charm. And more often than not, people’s shoe choices conveyed nothing serious about them at all! But how interesting it was to go through an entire evening entering conversations wanting to hear the story behind a person’s leopard print boots.

Me, quite literally staring at this man’s shoes

I don’t necessarily believe in creating opinions about a person based on what they’re wearing but I do think there is something lovely in noticing details about people. Noticing and caring about people’s choices and most importantly: being curious as to whether or not they fling their shoes off at the door or take the time to arrange them neatly. Are they always in a rush or do they cross the street to avoid getting mud on their shoes? Do they prioritize comfort or do they say yes to the high heeled or rigid leather? (The amount of fun afternoons and nights that are overshadowed because my feet hurt the whole damn time is a tragedy) I’ve met many new people in the past few weeks, as a side effect of moving, and am starting to think the act of being curious about people is more important than I might have thought.

I am, famously, quite nosy about the details in my friends’ lives. I would love to sit in front of their closets and listen to the stories behind all of their shoes— where they’ve worn them, if that pair is comfortable, if they want to get rid of them (and give to me), which ones they can’t bear to part with. My dad works for a shoe company and yet will wear the same pair for 6 years straight. My mom loves soft leather moccasins or any shoe that doesn’t make her ankles look too small. Rachel has the most broken-in pair of Doc Martens I’ve ever seen. Lillian wears the cutest bright blue embroidered boots. Michael has the most pristine shoe collection. The people I love are all so unique in their approach to life, it comes as no surprise that the shoes they wear reflect that.

So, reader, here’s to noticing and appreciating people’s little details more often. Hopefully they’re wearing shoes (though choosing to go barefoot is quite the indicator of who a person is), and hopefully the shoes are cute.

xoxo,

ev