A Tale of a Stubbed Ego

Since we’re on the subject of feet, I thought I’d share this little story that happened to me in September. And though it feels more like a Spring story because of the sandals, like Paula Said, “They’re wearing sandals somewhere on Earth right now.”

I had always promised myself that if I ever ran into Victoria Beckham I’d ask her how she does it. No, not juggling a brand, raising four kids, keeping David happy, hobnobbing with all the Kates of the world, running a castle, managing a staff and occasionally being Posh. My big question was, How does she walk in those things on her feet? Seriously.

I had the opportunity to make one of my dreams come true when I ran into Ms. Beckham at the Miu Miu boutique on 57th. “Excuse me, Victoria…how do you stay upright? I mean, it’s like an art form- you and those shoes.”  She was polite enough, laughed and explained that she had been a ballerina for a long time and being on pointe at such a young age had helped her in her daily task of teetering on the absurd. I smiled and thanked her and said something about her collection being perfection. But really what I was thinking was, I too had been on pointe for many of my formative years, and it really hadn’t helped me get past 3-1/2″.

When telling a friend of my encounter and my doubt of the pointe point being the reason she can walk with ease on sheer altitude, I was reminded that it’s a lot easier when you’re chauffeured all over the world and only need to take about 20 steps a day. Good pointe. I mean point.

But Victoria did make a point as she not so subtly scanned me from the pupils of my eyes, through my 1950’s black eyelet dress  (of which I know she appreciated the silhouette), to my go-to Sonia Rykiel black & cream graphic print cardigan to keep the store’s air-conditioning chill off of me, and down to my well manicured toes. Where she stopped was my shoes, or rather, sandals. My errand runners, gal-around-town black patent leather K. Jacques. I’ve worn them for years on hot days from NYC to California. But here’s the thing. Maybe they shouldn’t be my errand runners, the tank top on my feet. Standing in front of Mrs. Beckham I felt like a schlub. And even though I think Christian Louboutin’s 160 mm Daffodil pumps are hideous, and even more criminal, out of fashion, Victoria seemed to be saying to me, “Step up your game.” I have to agree. I might be a mom of two with a laundry list of crapola to do, but I should always do my duties with at least a little style, and maybe, just maybe, my feet had failed me.

Victoria walking away from me. I love the look of disgust on her face.

(Photo courtesy of the paparazzi outside the doors of Miu Miu.)