In all this wedding hoopla, I have been plagued by very few questions. The ones that stick all have to deal with shoes.
Forget vows, music, or even my dress (that was pretty easy), I need to know what my tootsies will be adorned with (God, I hate the word “tootsies.”)
I told the dress shop exactly what I wanted in a dress. Audrey Hepburn-inspired. Knee length. With a shirt-like top. Ordered. Donesies.
What do I want in a first dance song? Neil Young’s Harvest Moon. What else? (I mean, it’s about a couple breaking up, so yeah, gotta love that.)
And shoes. Sigh. At first, my shoes were going to be navy Jimmy Choo’s. Too much money. Then I found the perfect off-white Manolo Blahnik’s on E-Bay. And got outbid in the last minute of the sale. I seriously was down in the dumps for a good five days after that mishap. I imagined myself in all my bridal glory posing in pictures in those glorious vintage shoes. But that wasn’t going to happen. Finally, to stop all the madness of pondering over heels, I sprung for some vintage-like brand-new Kate Spade tan pumps at a Neiman Marcus clearance sale. I’m a classic kind of girl anyway, so these were perfect.
So basically, what I am saying is that the wedding is set. Seriously. Everything will be fine as long as I have some decent shoes on my feet. (If I didn’t, watch out, bridezilla on the loose! I don’t joke about shoes. Never.)
But here we are again, a day before my engagement photos in Central Park. And a dilemma hangs overhead. What to wear? Oh, my clothes were again an easy choice. At my workplace, one of the major perks of working at a magazine is the sales. When the fashion or beauty departments have too much in their inventory, they open up their closets to employees at deep-pocket discounts. High-dollar makeup for a buck? Why not? I come home each sale with a huge grin and with a gigantic stash of goodies. So when one well-known magazine at the company held a fashion sale a few months back, I didn’t hold back. Ten bucks for each item of clothing. Maybe that doesn’t seem that great of a deal, but when I picked up an Issa dress (a brand that Kate Middleton favors) for a bunch of dollar bills, I saved myself, oh, around 600 bucks. It’s a red and black boatneck-collar dress that flares at the knee. And fits perfectly. So there’s that.
Yet…shoes? When I buy a pair of shoes, it’s a big deal. Like I am saying to them, “Welcome to my closet family.” I favor vintage-inspired pumps, and I have six pairs in the black color category alone. (Of course, I have a ’50s pump, a ’40s T-strap, wedges, a skinny secretary-style pump, CK kitten heels, and some dressy strappy sandals. Black flats don’t belong in this category-too many of those to count.) So do I go with the Ralph Lauren fifties-style? They are classy, and if I happen to tilt my leg behind for a photo, it looks nice. But so does the Kimchi Blue T-strap. (My fiance knew about my addiction way before we got engaged, so please don’t feel sorry for him.)
Right now, I am sitting on my bed about to Skype with my matron of honor and mother over this serious problem. Did I need reinforcements when deciding over a classic Iowa dinner for my reception? No. Did I have to have a long conversation about table settings? Or my flowers? I said as long as they looked like they came out of an autumn Midwest ditch on the side of the road, they were perfect. But shoes.
This may take awhile.