Wow, I've done a lot of talking so far. And that makes sense, since it's my blog! But I know a lot of you are out there. I see the stats. I observe the number of hits each day. Anyone up for saying anything? Like, how it all started for you?
As a kid, I had a fascination with my mom's shoes. I think most boys can claim the same thing, as I doubt there are many out there that didn't fit their tiny feet into their mom's comparatively large high heels and drag them across the bedroom or living room (I did, and my mom got mad at me because she feared I would break the heels). As I got older, I was still drawn to them, and satisfied my interest by somehow convincing my childhood friend (the girl from down the block, who was about two years younger) to wear them when we were alone in the house. I'd go into my mom's closet, take out a pair of shoes and she'd wear them, even though it was a bit of a struggle because she had no experience whatsoever in wearing heels. Yes, this was before we were of the age when we would have started using that alone time for other things.
I figured it was a passing thing but when I got involved with my first real girlfriend, I was instantly drawn to her shoes. It began innocently enough when we were working the same shift and she gave me her keys so I could put something in her car. On the floor was a pair of generic brand Keds-style canvas sneakers that I had seen her wear before. Free from the imprisonment of her feet, I could see they were completely worn out. She was a heavyset girl and I enjoyed observing the way her self-proclaimed habit of being hard on her shoes left her with a collection of nicely trashed and abused footwear. The unintentional destruction of the shoes was something special to witness.
Her Keds-style sneakers wore down in the expected ways- the canvas uppers started to lose their shape and started to grow holes where the big toes rubbed against them, the gum-like rubber soles became smooth and began separating from the uppers in a few spots and the once-pristine white insides got smelly and sweat-stained. A pair of black leather lace-up booties were stretched out and the soles worn unbelievably thin, with the small blocky heels seeming to have lost a quarter inch in height. Other shoes collapsed under the pressure of their trashing and abuse in more entertaining ways. A pair of old leather Reebok sneakers (not sure what they're called, but the kind every woman seemed to wear at some point during the 90's) were constantly torqued to the side with the uppers appearing to swell over the sides of the soles, as part of her "hard walk" was walking on the outer sides of her feet. A pair of slip-on leather sandals had the shanks- shallow as they were on sandals with such low heels- crack in half and more or less be held together by the material that made up the lining. Her one pair of heels were at least fifteen years old with ripped leather lining, leather that was stretched and torn in places and top pieces worn down at an angle that caused the shoes to lean dangerously to each side when left unattended on the floor, almost in a admission of defeat. Her shoes were the first ones to make me wonder what shoes would think, if they could think at all. I'd look at her shoes and suspect they were left screaming in pain and wishing for any kind of peace, even if it meant being thrown in the garbage and left for dead in a landfill.
Over the years, I had other girlfriends that occupied opposite ends of the spectrum. One was so madly in love with me after the first date (I know... I'm irresistible... haha, just kidding!) that when she wore a tattered pair of flats on our second date, I demanded that she hand them over to me on the third date... and she did, although I sweetened the deal by taking her to the shoe store to buy her a new pair of shoes... and she did, having driven me nuts by trying on pair after pair of towering stilettos before deciding on one just before I was ready to explode. On the flip side, another girlfriend scoffed at the idea of keeping any pair of shoes past the point where they were mildly worn and had no desire whatsoever to keep one pair for the purposes of trashing and abusing.
So, what's your story? Where did it start? And how to you indulge? And if you're a female reader of this blog, what do you think about all of this?