Osae Wasa

Back in the 'land And happy to be so. Busy times indeed and lots of junk to get filtered through the old brainio, but at last seeing some light at the end of the tunnel and bought myself two spanking new pairs of shoes! I perhaps should explain about a little thing I have called shoe fetish. I looooooooove shoes, of all shapes and sizes - I am not 'shoe-ist'. Which of course does not mean to say that i do not discriminate about the kind of shoes that actually end up on my feet; the love of the engineering and design and sheer artistry of shoes is what kills me. Take gumboots for example (aka wellies, rubbers). A most humble shoe but ultimately an expression of the practical, giving rise to smelly feet, yet protecting one from the ravages of a muddy field like no other shoe can. The squelch as you sink up to your ankles in the forbidden joy of wet dirt, in a Christopher Robin kind of way (ahhh!the Tao of Pooh). I could write endless sonnets in praise of the gumboot. My most recent purchases are far from gumboot-esque, tending more toward Sophia Loren and Euro beach head respectively. The Lorens are a wonderful pair of black slingbacks with a nasty pointed toe and a very cute cutaway heel. The engineering that has gone into them astounds me - balancing on the ball of one's foot should not be as comfortable as these tricky little shoes seem to make it. Oh how I prance when wearing them - even my calf muscles suck themselves in in the hope of appearing more elegant in these shoes! I know I shall have many happy hours spent scuffing the dancefloor at Street Latin class in them. The Euros are an anomoly for me. I tend to go for the conservative side when it comes to casual shoes, primarily because comfort is usally the main objective. However I seem to have landed myself with a piece of Swedish Guggenheim on my feet this time. white and modular, with a cork sole, an Ikea thong for upwardly mobile hippies. They are very organic, and yet being almost completely synthetic their composition belies their appearance. I am looking forward to trialling my Euro thong when I hit Hastings Street in Noosa over Christmas. I may even wax my legs and allow sun to reach me in order to gain some colour and show off the white of the thong. I don't care if it is bad for me, I will always choose the real UV over the orange atrocity that is Ella Bache Sunkist fake tan. I do go to some trouble to show off my shoes appropriate to the occasion. Naturally, being the fashionable (ahem, debatable point here) lass I am, my shoes are always part of the whole ensemble, and not the sole focus (bad pun arama!). But whether it is a favoured pair of grotty runners, or a slick and spit polished duo of black patent leather Oxfords, you must admit that shoes hold a special place in the heart of even the most fashionably challenged. Clothes may maketh the man, but the shoe speaks volumes about their personality, their social status, and if they like to play dirty. Ahhhh, the sweet smell of a new pair of leather shoes. Knowing that a cow has died, had its skin removed, tanned, beaten, soaked and dyed all for the benefit of my tootsies. Someone else can eat the steak, I'll take the hide thanks. And the synthetics have their own special appeal in a hospital/surgical fresh kind of way, or maybe that's just me liking polyurethides. To a point - I am no Birkenstock fanatic. The most fascinatinly ugly shoe on earth, designed to make the wearer look like a Gaia lovin' lesbian or a half-arsed studio dwelling performance artist. Each to their own, but no Birkenstocks for me. I admire the handbag. I am a devotee of the natty scarf, and of course I enjoy jewellery in many forms, but my abiding love is the shoe. Shoes are what separates us from the apes my friends.