Okay, forget all your preconceived notions of dowdy,
matronly librarians. I happen to work in a library with six paid staff members,
and only one of us is someone who just wears whatever is comfortable (casual
pants and a casual top most of the time. To tell you the truth, I adore her,
but I don’t pay that much attention to what she wears, so I can’t really
describe it). The others? Oh my God! They make me feel like I need to start
attending fashion shows. Each has her own style from Bohemian to funky to classic
tweed, and they all pull it off beautifully.
I was beginning to feel a bit intimidated surrounded by all
these glamour librarians (Ms. Musings and Zoe’s Mom, where are you when a gal
needs a trip into Philly with personal shoppers?). Then, one of my colleagues
came to the rescue. She’d been checking out books on fashion that we have in
our countywide library system, and some of them looked quite good. I
immediately began putting my own reserves on them and checked out a few that we
actually had on our own shelves (she pooh-poohed these because they were all at
least 7 years old – way too old for the truly chic).
My books all came in, and I began to read them. My two
favorites were Wear This, Toss That by
Amy E. Goodman (although I didn't always agree with her), and The Lucky Shopping Manual by Kim France and
Andrea Linett (my colleague was wrong about being out of date when it comes to
this book published in 2003. It has timeless, practical advice). I like these
two because they’re heavily illustrated and have all kinds of great hints and tips.
Also, neither one insists you define your “body type” and dress accordingly.
Did I ever tell you about having my “colors" done back in the 1980s when that
was all the rage? The woman who did it, ultimately couldn’t figure out if I was
a “spring” or a “summer". Guess what. I have the same problem with body type. I guess I really did break some mold somewhere.
The Lucky Manual is
terrific, because for each article of clothing, it provides a page of specific
illustrations. I (who have never been very up on fashion terminology) could
look at its dress page and know exactly what a “shift” is. I also like it,
because for each article of clothing, it has a section that tells you how to
build your closet for that item. It starts off, “You’re totally covered if you
have…” letting you know which basic pieces you need and also what to add if,
for instance, you’re “a gal who loves dresses.”
I’m busy thinking, “This is terrific!” It means I can shop
my closet, streamline, get rid of what I don’t need, and buy those items that
will keep me totally covered. Shopping with specific items in mind, as long as
I can find them (and basics should be pretty easy to find) is far more
appealing to me than aimlessly shopping, unless, of course, I’m shopping for
shoes.
Which leads me to the shoe section. And this is when I realize that maybe I have a bit of a
problem. Maybe I need to attend a shoe shoppers support group. I mean, up until
I’d reached this section, I’d found the book to be so practical. “Okay, I need
2 good white tees, 2 good black ones, 4 tanks, 1 striped tee, and 1 henley
(whatever that is) or polo. That I can do.” Then I began browsing the shoe
section. Let’s just say, my blood pressure was on the rise.
Okay, first of all, it opens with this page that pictures a
gorgeous array of shoes to illustrate what a platform or a clog or a flat or an
ankle boot is (funnily enough, I have no problem with shoe terminology).
I will forgive this section for not portraying a single sneaker or such classic
footwear as topsiders or espadrilles. I mean, if we’re going to be told,
basically, that we should never be caught dead in clunky athletic footwear
outside the gym or off the running track – a sentiment with which, by the why,
I happen to whole-heartedly agree – and should pair our tee shirts and shorts
with a sleeker pair of sneakers or other casual shoes, well, you know, give us
some pictures to show us what you mean. I guess I don’t sound too forgiving
here, but, really, I was (how could I not forgive a book with such a gorgeous
photo of shoes?) until I got to the “You’re totally covered if you have…”
section.
My reaction to this section leads me to believe that when I
attend that shoe shoppers support group, I will have to stand up and say, “My
name is Emily. I am an acknowledged book slut, but, it seems, I am also a shoe
slut.” I’ll probably never attend that meeting, though, because I’m quite sure
I have valid reasons for thinking Lucky
is just plain wrong when it comes to shoes.
The manual informs us that if it’s winter, here’s what we
need to be totally covered:
2 pairs of knee boots (yes. That makes perfect sense. One
brown, one black. Although, 4 is even better: one pair of flat black, and one
pair of heeled black, and same in brown.)
1 pair of good office shoes (if you work in an office,
you’re there 5 days a week. Say you wear your two pairs of boots two of those
days and your good office shoes on the third – and who says you want to do
that? Perhaps you’re not in a boot mood. Granted, not being in a boot mood has
never happened to me, but it could, you
know -- then, you wear your one pair of office shoes. Are you telling me you
must wear two pairs of those shoes twice in one week, showing up to work on
Friday in Mondays oh-so-tired-by-the-end-of-the-week boots?)
1 pair of evening shoes (okay, most winter evenings I’m
rarely wearing anything other than pajama bottoms, a warm pullover, and
slippers, so that makes sense)
1 pair of casual shoes (again, I ask, “One? Only one? I’m
sorry, but I cannot be monogamous when it comes to casual shoes. I mean, think
of all you have to choose from here: cowboy boots, ankle boots, clogs, loafers,
ballet flats, and what about snow boots? I bet my friends in New York and New
England won’t be wearing sneakers this weekend).
And that’s it, people. The book claims you’re totally
covered with only 5 pairs of shoes for winter. Am I the only one gasping for
air here? It goes on to say that “if the sky is raining shoes, add another pair
of knee boots, ankle boots, and a flat office shoe.” Let’s not get distracted
here by the idea of the sky raining shoes, which is a lovely image, isn’t it?
If the sky were to open up and pour shoes, surely even I, who, when I was a
kid, always came away from a broken piñata with about 3 pieces of candy, would
be able to get around to collect enough pairs of shoes to have more than 8 in my
winter wardrobe. Especially, since, you know, I’m not one who is comfortable
doing her workout videos in knee boots, and I don’t see athletic shoes
mentioned anywhere in the “totally covered” list.
Here’s what I supposedly need to be totally covered for
summer:
2 pairs of good office shoes (even fewer choices in summer
for the office than in winter. The sexist in me assumes your male colleagues
probably won’t notice, but can’t you just hear your female colleagues referring
to you as “that woman who wears the same shoes all the time”?).
1 pair of good flat sandals (surely this is a misprint. They
meant 3, right?).
1 pair of flip flops (oh, good grief. Flip flops cost about
as much as a pack of Lifesavers, and certainly I need one pair in each of the
five flavors).
I pair of strappy, sexy sandals (again. How could you ever
decide on one color? If I own only black or white, it seems I find myself
choosing a dress that screams for a pair of red or silver or light pink).
If it’s a summer thunderstorm of shoes (and they don’t pour
down with scorch marks all over them), I can add more strappy sandals (oh,
good. Hello, red, silver, pink, and
green) and some light-colored office shoes.
Again, I ask you, where are the sneakers? I don’t know about
you, but I must have at least 2 pairs of cute sneakers (not athletic shoes,
mind you, but sneakers) for summer. I’m just not into the strappy, sexy sandals
and shorts look at my age. I may be a
shoe slut, but I certainly don’t want to look like one.
Okay, so tell me, do I need help? 16 pairs of shoes for one
year just isn’t enough for me. Also, I forgot to mention the fact that I will
happily wear an impulse buy once or twice and decide to get rid of it once I
discover that I’m hobbling around like an ancient Chinese bride after they’ve
been on my feet for 3 hours. Perhaps I’m just one of those gals whose hormones
are a little different. I need 40 pairs of shoes when others need only 16. Does
that make me such a bad person? As Rizzo, in Grease, might sing, “There are
worse things I could do than go with a pair of shoes or two (or 40).” While I
ponder all this, I think I’ll take my DSW coupon and head off to see what
they’ve gotten in since I was last there.
