At first, I only noticed black women who wear shoes like these. It used to make me wonder “Why?”. I would look at their pretty outfits, and compare it to the shoes they’re wearing, and get slightly angry. Don’t ask me why.
Eventually, I started noticing this disturbing trend among white women as well. I initially thought it must be a class thing. How else to explain it?
But no, the woman I photographed this morning appears to be part of the so-called middle class. I’m pretty sure she would be able to afford R20 at her local Nanucci’s to repair the shoe’s heels. R20 is really not much to pay, right? But if R20 isn’t a lot of money to pay, why do I see so many women with heels like these? Do they just not care? Are they not uncomfortable, walking around in shoes like that? And no, I’m not just referring to emotionally, though I would be traumatized if I had to wear shoes like that. I’m talking about physically uncomfortable. Surely the shoes scrape against the pavement when they walk?
What’s more, it doesn’t look pretty. That is my biggest problem. Sure, you can’t zoom in on the photo in the way I am able to, so it doesn’t really look that bad. But, trust me, it is.
Sure, Cape Town is known as “Slaapstad” or “Aapstad” or whatever silly names you can think of. But. Surely there must be women who still take some pride in their appearance? Women for whom spending R20 to fix heels might not sound blasphemous?
There are some stuff happening right now that’s a bit much for me to handle. I can feel things may slide back into a maelstrom if I don’t stop it …
But do I want to stop it?
I saw two good friends today. Uri and my darling Glen. It’s the first time in months that I saw Glen again (fucking dodgy grammar, please find it in your heart to forgive me). And I was able to vent to Glen about some of the kak that is hitting my fan at the mo. Uri, well, I kept mum. It’s not as though he won’t understand, but he’s so good at pinpointing what’s wrong, it makes me want to cry. Argh. And I hate crying when I’m wearing mascara.
So I bought myself some pwetty things to make my heart sparkle again. I got new skanky red shoes yesterday already. They’re my new fuck me shoes. Every girl should have a pair of FMSs. Today I got new jeans. From Edgars, nogals. But they’re no-name jeans; I don’t do labels. I’m a label snob. It makes me look thin and pwetty! I’m so very thrilled with myself.
And then I got some new red wine glasses at Clicks. I’m far too easy to please. I don’t have to spend a lot of money; I spent R200 on the jeans and the shoes. Only!
Yes, I know I shouldn’t use shopping as therapy. Yes, I should tackle my problems instead of dodging them. But what if I just can’t? What if I’m having nightmares from them? What if my paranoia is so bad I refuse to believe what people tell me? Who can help me?
This is a stunning coat. It’s something I would love to wear, possibly with fabulous jeans and cute gold pumps.
I would love to dress like this! I saw it in The New York Times. The outfit on the left is absolutely stunning, even the shoes, though I wouldn’t really wear such shoes. I far prefer strappy, high-heeled sandals.
The article I saw this in, mentions that it’s a very bland look; I have to disagree. Perhaps it is because I come from a semi-working class family, but this is how I would like to dress at least every other day. High heel, full skirts, tiny tops, a hat, vintage handbag… the works.
This look is just not done in Cape Town. I don’t see people wearing high heels, ever. Kitten heels, yes, but not actual high heels. Fuck. Why? Why? Why? Why?