Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world… and these were most definitely the right shoes.
We appear to be deep into wedding season. So many weddings, so many beautiful brides, and so many wedding guests.
So many lovely ladies, each searching for that perfect outfit, the one which makes them look and feel like a million dollars while still obeying the one all-important unwritten rule, not to outshine the brightest star on her day, the bride.
For me, shopping with the pressure of having to find a result is bad enough, but three results was an absolute nightmare. That’s right, three big weddings, three possibilities for the confidence to rise and carry me through, or to plummet and confine me to hiding in the toilet.
The first of these weddings was my Nephew and his fiancé, a fairytale wedding in a castle. There was no need for me to shine at this wedding, I could quite happily slink back into the “also-ran” category and take the opportunity to settle my nervousness of public occasions, boosting the confidence to take up my position as “Mother-of-the-bride” in the next two weddings.
I chose a dress, a simple dark green dress of a vintage style with a comfortable swish skirt. I tried to match it to my orange shoes, but for both health and appearance reasons I need to wear long sleeves and I failed abysmally to find some kind of shrug or jacket to pull the outfit together.
However, once the orange shoes jumped over to a different outfit I bought a shrug made in the style of vintage cream lace to complement the green dress and set off to Oxford with the option of taking the whole day to scour every shop looking for matching shoes.
I remember a pair of shoes bought for a wedding, many, many moons ago, possibly before my girls were even thought of. I remember I had borrowed a gunmetal grey top to wear with a dusty pink suit and Mum-in-law (on one of her brave attempts to try and shop with me) Mum-in-law had accompanied me to Cardiff, freeing up the whole day if needed to find the perfect shoes. I learned that day how much shoes mattered, how the perfect shoes could make or break the whole outfit, and yet I found and bought my perfect shoes in the very first shop we tried, within the first half hour of the shopping day.
I loved those grey shoes and literally wore them to death until eventually they fell apart on my feet.
This is very much how my Oxford shoe shopping trip went, I spotted my shoes in the very first shop I visited.
Mum-in-law has long since learned how difficult I am to shop with but in this age of modern technology I took along four personal shoppers, my three girls and Little Sister in my pocket via the Internet. I sent pictures of my shoes… And the price tag… Way above my usual expenditure for a whole outfit. But they were perfect, they were the ones, and as many different shops with as many different shoes I looked at I always seemed to find myself back at the first shop, taking another look at “my shoes”.
I consulted the bank manager… I sent Hubby a photo and the price. Hubby knows how much I dislike spending money and how I measure the value of shopped items in smiles and not pennies. He came back with the answer I needed, permission for my conscience, I would have to wear them several times if I was paying that much.
I messaged my pocket shoppers… “define several” I asked…
Three times was the general consensus… I smiled wildly… And bought the shoes..