If the shoe fits

Melissa Stagnaro

One look is probably all you’d need to determine that I’m hardly a fashionista. My closet could easily be one of the befores featured on any one of TLC’s makeover shows.

But sometimes, looks can be deceiving. Sure my daily footwear choices usually are more about function but fashion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a pair of truly fabulous shoes as much as the next girl.

I know, I know, you’d never know it by looking at the plain Jane numbers that I wear to work most days, the back of my closet tells a different story.
I’m no Carrie Bradshaw, with a closet full of Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks. But, God, I’d love to be.

I’m usually able to resist my urge to splurge in the shoe department (by necessity – my shoe budget for the year wouldn’t stretch to cover one Ferragamo, let alone a pair.) But I have been known to give into my baser impulses on special occasions.

Because who needs scrap books to memorialize momentous events in your life, when you’ve got the shoes to remember them by. Like the strappy gold platform shoes I wore to my college graduation, the little kitten-healed mules I trekked through Paris in, the sexy beaded Carlos Santana sandals I wore to my cousin Elizabeth’s wedding, or the black stilettos that complimented my Sarah Palin Halloween costume so well last year. Ooh, and don’t forget my cute little winter boots with the fur trim. Cold weather has never been so much fun.

In some cases, the shoes may be gone, but the memories remain. Oh, how I miss the black, knee high go-go boots that carried me out on many a night during my DC years. They coordinated with everything from the cute little black dress I commandeered from my roommate Melissa to the pleather hot pants I nicked from our other roommie, Bridget.

Now that I think about it, I miss having their closets to pilfer through almost as much as I miss the boots.

I’ve been feeling a bit blah lately, which I’d chalked up to the days getting shorter. In retrospect, that lackluster aura had just as much to do with the shoes I’ve been wearing – which are just as bleak as a typical Upstate New York weather forecast.

Never fear, though, because on a shopping excursion with my mother last weekend, I discovered the fix: a pair of faux-leopard flats, with black patent trim.

The result? Instant rejuvenation.

Add in some slightly blonder highlights, a new lip gloss and a flashy new Miche handbag, and I’m starting to feel like the real me again.

Aahhh. It feels good to be back.