Shoe Personality of the Week: 8/09/2010

If you’re a regular or an archive troller you may have run across the mention of me not being so secure as a girl once upon a time. Not like I felt like a boy trapped in a girl’s body but like having a girl’s body was like Biggie’s concept of mo’ money, mo’ problems. At times it was a hassle to have the parts I came here with and on the timetable they chose to make their debuts. Though my older sister insists I’m the girliest chick ever, I resisted that notion.

Sadly, being a girl was something I equated with weakness. Boys got to do all the cool stuff and no one tried to prevent them from breaking. While I’m thankful to have avoided them, I used to wish for a broken bone (without ever trying to break any) because it just seemed like such a cool rite of passage that came with write-on plaster. Somehow from that I grew into the girl who mastered nail designs long before I even heard the word manicure or realized it was an Asian dominated industry. I was 12, what did I know?

By the time I hit 15 I was completely sold on TLC’s baggy shirts and jeans. They were the perfect costume to hide the fact that my nubbins breasts hadn’t come in yet and to hide the hips that were trying to. Never satisfied, right? I tried to cover up all the vital areas that boys were watching for change. See, at 12, when I had to look all of 9 years old, someone threw the word “sexy” at me and I just found the weight of it a little too heavy for my childish arms to carry. Truthfully, the word scared me to death. What was I supposed to do with it? The word came up again when I was 14, over the lips of boys I liked. I wanted to be this thing they said I was but without doing what my mama told me I ain’t have no business doing. Well, that’s not entirely true. I was hot to trot and desperate to share the gifts of puberty but nature and the fear of my mother kept the gifts under wraps.

Sidebar: where can I get some industrial strength wrap for my child’s gifts?

Back to the regularly scheduled program. By now you’re probably wondering what the hell this story has to do with the shoe or a personality? Well, I’m getting to that.

The gifts traveled with me for a few more years and I traveled down several winding roads to arrive at acceptance. Of some sort. I worked on gettin’ all right with myself, feeling beautiful in my own skin. It took some time. Just when I began to accept the body that I still felt was pre-pubescent boy (aside from those Witt women hips) it turned on me. Curves popped up all ova da place and I got even more attention, making me slightly more uncomfortable. Don’t get it all the way twisted. I was fascinated and excited about looking feminine. Guess I finally got the body to go with all my girly habits.

Turns out, I ooze femininity. This isn’t something you can attempt to do and make it happen believably. Either you do or you don't. No matter how much I love sneakers, boxer briefs and ball shorts, I am apparently the physical manifestation of femininity. Cocky much? I promise this ain’t about that. As I discovered what I was, so did other men and women. Men loved it, of course, and women were either intrigued or hated on it or both. What’d it do to me? Made me even more uncomfortable. I found other ways to try to shrink so as not to make women others uncomfortable with me.

Well, Mama’s 35 now and I’ve learned you can’t please everybody so you might as well please ya’self. So, it pleases me to accept my feminine self in all my girly glory. THIS shoe epitomizes the kind of woman I see myself as. The leather looks soft; the wood gives it structure. The gold studs add a little pop but don’t go overboard. The peek-a-boo toe is alluring and alludes to the mystery hidden behind the leather. The strap holds on just enough to keep you from losing the shoe but doesn’t strangle. And it’s oh so girly. I would love it if you liked this shoe or supported me in my mission NOT TO put me away for the comfort of others. What about you do you need to own and rock with pride? Dust it off and put it on the glass (not literally). Strut your stuff tall and proud and make folks accept who you are. They’ve only got 2 choices—love your OR leave you alone. We’ve all got to learn to accept that if folks choose to walk, it’s because they aren’t supposed to be there in the first place. Leave parting gifts at the door and show it’s no hard feelings. This ain’t about waving “bye” to folks but saying “hello” to the neglected parts of you that are part of what makes you unique. I know what shoe/s represent my personality. What represents yours?

Watch me move.

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