As hard as it may be to believe, there was a time when I owned no designer shoes at all. No, really. My closet was a mid-range shoe wasteland, populated by the serviceable and the attractive, but absolutely barren of the ludicrously expensive. Then, one day, at the Nordstroms in Walnut Creek, I came across a rack of shoes they were clearing out because they were re-arranging their high-end shoe salon. And these shoes were there, and they were Ferragamos.
My grandmother, one of the most truly stylish people I have ever known, had some Ferragamo shoes she had gotten in Italy, and I had always associated the brand with a sort of glamorous grown-upness. Which certainly helped me in my decision-making, but if I am being truly honest, I can not actually remember the precise moment, and the thinking that led me to it, at which I crossed the border into this bold new world of the fabulous, and fabulously expensive*, shoe.
Which is probably how it should be. One’s mystical moments in life do not benefit from too much awareness.
*Even, let’s face it, when they’re on sale.