An Appreciation for Sensible Shoes
by Kimberly Dark
I paused to touch the shiny black toes at the Hilo Salvation Army store. I smiled a bit as I caught a whiff of shoe polish. I thought of my sweetie. She loves men’s leather shoes: black and shiny. They tumble out of her closet along with sandals and athletic shoes. She’s a gender-twisted variation on the cultural icon of female shoe-aficionado: a woman with a whole closet full of sensible shoes.
The shine on those Salvation Army shoes is what stopped me. Some of those resale shoes had never seen polish in their previous careers at the remote ends of men’s bodies. They never felt black shoe polish, or a shining hand until they became merchandise once more at a thrift store where they make an effort for presentation’s sake. Others among those rows, perhaps, knew the polish well — as her shoes do.
Her shoes: men’s black leather shoes with laces, shoes with buckles, shoes with rounded toes, leather bottoms or lug soles, neat stitching. At 6’2” her feet are large enough for men’s shoes. She’s been wearing them ever since she put on her grandfather’s shoes as a lanky teen and her mother admonished “You just take those big ‘ol brogans right off!”
I love the smell of shoe polish because of her. The practice of polishing and shining a shoe is almost lost in disposable culture — almost lost but for the shoes of ritual and uniform. The practice of simple effort in daily presentation, almost lost. She comes from farmers though — tends things well.
I stood there wearing a big goofy smile, lost in reverie in the Salvation Army as I recalled her rough, sinewy feet in shoes like those. The way she rocks back on her heels, waiting for me in some public place that requires shined shoes — not work boots, not running shoes, not thong-slippers — smart, black leather shoes. This is one of her scents and I delight in them all: shampoo, shoe polish, soil and the well-placed men’s cologne on her muscled, yet feminine body. I smiled at how beautiful, how handsome, how right I find her.
“She comes from farmers though — tends things well.” — Tweet this
We are different, she and I. To some, our gender is the same, and that places us in the same category of people, but this is an error in attention. I’m built for comfort; she’s built for speed, for starters. I love the incorrigible length of her thigh. I recall my barely suppressed awe the first time I saw her sprint up a hill that my body found distasteful. Wow — such a quick ascent! My breath quickened at her lack of exertion, long arms pumping forward with glee. She jokes about my “goddess hiking boots:” skimpy rhinestone sandals unsuitable for outdoor perambulating.
“A lot of folks can’t see what they’re looking at, if it doesn’t match their expectations.” — Tweet this
As I meandered away from the rack of men’s dress shoes, I considered what an onlooker might’ve thought of my shopping. Did anyone imagine the man for whom I was considering the black-shoe purchase? A husband, brother, father or son? Or could a passerby recognize my wistful consideration and wonder if perhaps I love a certain kind of woman? Who knows? A lot of folks can’t see what they’re looking at, if it doesn’t match their expectations.
Perhaps I’m that way too — except that I’ve been blessed by a bigger range of experiences regarding gender. In order to follow my physical urges, I had to open my eyes a bit wider to take in what was standing in front of me. I’m usually attracted to certain types of women, after all, so I’ve learned to recognize them. I’ve become accustomed to listening more carefully so that I can understand difference, get close, move on in. I’ve been fortunate that way. In everyday moments, such as when the scent of shoe polish catches me in a thrift store, I pause to appreciate my gifts.
Kimberly Dark is a writer, sociologist and raconteur working to reveal the hidden architecture of everyday life, one clever story, poem and essay at a time. Learn more at www.kimberlydark.com.
