So I've cleaned out heapfuls of shit out of my flat. Now I'm oscillating with choice. Predictably, I filled an entire box with shoes late last night after a fabulous home-cooked meal with old friends.
And I found these specimens.
Back in 1999, just as the Spice Girls were starting to be uncool, I thought it would be a good idea to purchase these babies.
The context of the story goes as such: I was in Andorra – that little skiing principality between Spain and France. I was 18 and considerably stupid, but I saw these in the shop window and was drawn to the uber turquoiseness of this very footwear.
It's a tax haven, and as you can guess, these shoes were on sale. Nobody really buys double platform turquoise Spice Girl slip-ons called Le Freak even when they're on acid.
It's like shooting a fly with a canon ball.
Completely unnecessary.
Except, they had one eager buyer. And that was me. They didn't even have my size, these babies are about 2 sizes too large for me. I am a marketer's dream. They cost me ninety francs. In those days, that's ninety ront. Come on. This horse was not only being lead to water, she was drinking the whole fucking trough.
Everyone got back in the bus to show off their tax-free purchases after the shopping spree. J had bought a watch, Cute English Exchange Student bought 5 cases of somethingorother, someone else got perfume. I held up my exquisite shoes. (Suede, boet. Though it must be said, getting suede polish in that colour wasn't ever going to happen).
I proceeded to hit about three nightclubs in quick succession thereafter and come right in them. One was our ski instructor, but that's a whole other story - heavens alive - I was bouncing off the walls in these puppies. I've never felt so alive, so unbelievably turquoise, and so unbelievably horny.
Since then they have been the pinnacle item in my dress-up cupboard, and like the other day when I had to dress up as Chav Spice, they certainly came in handy. They're always a great conversation starter. Even for all the wrong reasons.
So do I throw them out? I've become rather savvy in the good old fashioned pro's and con's list department over the last few months, so here goes:
Con: The colour is frightfully startling.
Pro: The colour is frightfully startling.
Con: They're two sizes too big.
Pro: Like anybody cares.
Con: Grievous bodily harm, at least once a night. One party at varsity, I tripped over a friggin' tree root on the pavement, where the tar had bubbled and crumbled up. Leaving my knee torn to shreds.
Pro: Great scar stories for Aunty Peas' godchildren.
Con: They're absolutely revolting.
Pro: Never forget that in revolting, there's always charm.
Con: They're clonky and heavy, and attached to one's feet in a river, you'd most certainly descend to a watery grave.
Pro: I wear them once every two years, and nowhere near vast bodies of water.
Con: They say Le Freak on them.
Pro: They're honest shoes.
Con: Coming right in them would mean the oke has to be fucked on something and half blind. It worked in the nineties in dark nightclubs, but now, not so much.
Pro: Someone will be game, given enough drugs/he wears sunnies in the dark.
Con: Dancing in them takes away any smidgeon of rhythm I might've had. And even though I'm serious as cancer when I say rhythm is a dancer, the
Pro: Who needs rhythm when there's free range techno?
Con: They're a liability if you have to wear them all night.
Pro: I could swap them with an unassuming Ozzie for his shoes. Anything is possible.
Con: They resemble two lumo blue hovercrafts attached to my feet. Calais to Dover leaving in five minutes!
Pro: Vernon La Koekemoer Esquire would approve.
I'm keeping the Andorran shoes. Nobody has any quite like these. They're a prize.
