…but I know what I know and I know what I like and I believe that women dress for other women but men think women dress for them.
Yesterday I had to toss out my favourite shoes. The high-heeled leather booties were on my feet as we landed in London, England three years ago. On that flight I saw the very same shoes in the new issue of Elle Magazine that I was flipping through and I may have squealed with glee. I love those shoes so much that I had the heels redone once and recently tried to get the scraped toes recovered but the cobbler looked at me like I was crazy. You can’t fix the toes! I conducted an internet search and even wrote to the company that made them but I never heard back. I did find them on Ebay from a retailer in Niagara Falls who only had them in brown, not black. So I dabbed on some black shoe polish and almost convinced myself that I could get away with it. But I can’t. Men probably wouldn’t ever notice them but a woman definitely would and the humiliation of that moment would live in her memory of me forever. I couldn’t chance it so I tossed them out yesterday. They’re still in the trash in the kitchen and I’m still thinking about them even though I know it’s over between us.
It’s about standards. It isn’t a matter of worrying about what someone else might think of me as much as it’s deciding whether I’m a woman who can feel good about herself while wearing worn out shoes. And I’m not – I’m better than that! But I think that if you ask a man, he’ll say that women dress for men. But if you ask women, they’ll say they dress for women. Women notice details and have unspoken rules about what’s appropriate for work attire, for cleavage revelation and for a sense of class. Do you agree?