I have a pair of red leather pointy flats that I would marry if it were legal in the state of Colorado. A polygamist, I have five pairs in the same style - two in black, one pewter, one gold and my red. The pewter was my first.
Pointy shoes, flats especially, remind me of the flare of 80’s fashion and black short zip boots the mods and Teddy Boys wore. Plus an extreme point elongates my otherwise Fred-Flintsone-variety-wide foot. In Duran Duran days, I wore and wore and wore out a pair of pewter penny loafers, bought at the Wild Pair in the mall, back then our go-to destination for MTV and/or new wave inspired footwear. Flash forward two decades where I paid full retail at Nordstrom for a fresh pewter fantasy, the find a coming home. I wore the hell out of them, snug and comfy as I skipped all over town. They rarely come out of the closet now, so overly worn and a bit musty.
Then I found red. The perfect muted shade of leather, they go with sweaters over leggings in the winter, high cuffed skinny jeans in the summer and every black Studio M dress I own. I've even written about them:
The handsome pair eventually found an open booth directly behind my party. In true flirt fashion, I swiveled my stool fully around, crossed and pointed legs towards them like the needle of a compass even though doing so somewhat clogged the path to the bathroom; I nearly hooked the testicles of several men with my very pointy red shoe.
Shoes so magical, the black pair made a fast celebrity friend (photo included):
While waiting at the bar for a rum Del Sol, I spot a petite blonde in navy crinoline staring at my shoes. "You must love them or hate them,” I say jokingly of the extreme pointy toed, testicle catching lovelies (I have them in red too). “No, I love them!” she retorted. “Those shoes are going take over the party.” Check out some visual art installations, check out the boys and find a seat on a squishy L-shaped and obviously brought in for the show excuse of a couch. Half hour passes. “That's Amy Sedaris...,” I exclaim in shock. "Amy Sedaris liked my shoes!”
Authors note: I just can't talk about my pointies without mentioning balls. Apparently.
Found them sitting on an off-season Nordstrom rack (along with the black and gold). They now have water stains, the foot bed is perfectly stamped with an outline of my arch and all five toes, and some of the stitching is threatening to pop. But I just can't quit them.
I tried and tried to - gasp! - replace the red, a search both high and low for just the perfect fit, the perfect color and feel. The perfect roach stomper point. I came close with a Nine West knock-off, but I've yet to wear them. I still reach for my first loves.
I’ll never let go.