My Life in Tokyo

Last night I finished watching the movie Kinky Boots. It was just the right kind of story to fit my mood this week, and I thought it was a lot of fun. The final scene with Drag Queens in thigh-high stiletto boots on the catwalk in Milan was definitely worth the wait!

At one point in the movie, the lead Queen Lola says that you can tell everything about a person by their shoes.

So this begs the question, what do my shoes say about me?
I decided to go through my closet and examine the very sorry state of my footwear. My friends, it is not a pretty picture.

Here are my basic everyday shoes for the winter:

Black suede Merrells. Several years old and fading. Very practical. Comfortable to walk in, some protection from rain and snow. Slip-on, which is very useful in Japan.

For everyday use, here’s my other alternative:

New Balance Cross-trainers. Great for my feet, especially if I were planning to run a marathon. Could be considered clever if I were commuting to work on Wall Street in a suit, or anti-Beauty Establishment if I were a college student.

Today I decided to go with something a wee bit more stylish when I took Juliet for a walk. Here’s what I found in my closet:

Rubber-soled loafers from Aerosoles. Nice and comfortable, actually.

Now let’s move on to the summer shoes stashed away in the closet. Here the story isn’t much better, I’m afraid. I bought these shoes for our first visit to Tokyo, for easy slip-on when apartment hunting.

What was I thinking?

Here’s what I wear almost every day in the summer:

I love these Clarks sandals. They are incredibly comfortable. They’re also reasonably attractive if you’re wearing khaki capris or a long denim skirt. But they seriously restrict my summer wardrobe.

Then there are these:

They have potential, but I’ve never been able to walk in them very well. And isn’t the point of a really great pair of shoes that they make you look good when you walk?

Of course I have these too:

They seemed like a good idea in theory, since I like my winter Merrells so much. But I’ve never figured out how to make these work with any halfway decent clothes.

Now here are my dress shoes.

These are nice black suede pumps. Practical and decent. Big heel and square toes. Also extra pads and arch supports to make them fit my feet. These are not sexy shoes.

And finally,

The blue pumps with a top strap. The shoe salesman at the special store for people with problem feet (me and a bunch of octogenarians in orthopedic shoes) had some point about the strap, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. These shoes are weird.

These shoes are only for outing that require very little walking. If I’m going to take the subway or even walk several blocks to take a taxi, even if I’m going to the opera, I always opt for these:

So there it is, folks. The sum total of my shoe collection. And so I ask myself, what do my shoes say about me?

They say I need to buy new shoes.

(Now, if only they sold women’s shoes in my size in Japan. I wonder where the Japanese Drag Queens shop?)