Paper or Shoes

In the town where I was raised there were two main industries, paper and shoes.  In most families one or both parents worked in either the paper mills or the shoe factories.  Kids grew up and often followed in their parents footsteps; paper or shoes.

Our family was a shoe family.  My father was an engineer for Bass shoe, founded by George Bass in 1876.  He started out on the factory floor and worked his way up. His job was to analyze the labor required to make a shoe, and then determine how much, per piece, a worker should be paid for their particular contribution. This kind of work was called "piece work", and allowed better, more experienced workers to earn more because they had harder jobs and/or were more productive. It was a non-unionized system that paid workers according to their productivity and skill.

Bass Shoe was sold to Chesebrough-Ponds in 1978.  They were famous for Vaseline, Ponds Cold Creams and other beauty products.  Why they wanted a shoe factory I couldn't say, but things continued to roll along fairly smoothly.  In 1981, President Reagan lifted the quotas on imported shoes and cheaper shoes from overseas became available.  American shoe companies, in order to compete, began moving their production overseas.  The companies that maintained factories in the US cut jobs and payroll.  My father lost his job in 1987 after Philips-Van Heusen purchased the company and again slashed jobs and payroll.  Bass closed their last Maine factory in 1998, letting go of its final 350 workers.  Over the course of 18 years, about 1,200 people employed by this one company lost their jobs. You can still buy Bass shoes, but they are not made in the US.

The paper mills have fared better but there have been union strikes, cuts and closings.  In short, my old hometown is not the insulated community it used to be.  We are not special.  The same thing has happened all across the country.

I bring these things up because it is a big shopping weekend and today is Shop Local Saturday. While it might not be practical to purchase only American-made products, it is possible to shop locally for one day and benefit your local community. Go on.  Get out there. Buy something already.

Chicken out

Fashion is a Two-Faced Bitch: You Can't Trust Shoes

It was a typical Wednesday afternoon at DSW. The stilletos were preening, the men's tennis shoes were trying to look masculine, as were the women's tennis shoes.  The women's were winning.  The hiking shoes were making fun of the extra wide sizes, the flip flops were being all nonchalant, and back on the sale rack, the purple dotted clearance shoes waited in a dejected slump, while the blue dotted shoes still maintained a healthy optimism.  The running shoes were running in place, and timing themselves.  The sales clerks went about their duties oblivious to the cacophony.

I had barely made it through the door when I was bombarded on all sides with shoe pitches:

"Hey Lady, You like?  Me love you long time" 

"Girlfriend.....This is your lucky day"

"We're too good for you, don't even come over here, we'll slap you  We don't care how much money you have, we will break. your. ankle if you even try us on."  (reverse shoe psychology. It's over my head)

"Ooooohhhh hi!  HI!  Over here!  See us!  Ohhhh we're so comfortable you won't believe it.  You can run in us. Didn't you see the commercial?  Try it, you'll see! " 

And cat calls:

"Well,  looky what we got here. Looks like we got ourselves a Lookie-Lou, fellas!"

"Whatchu lookin for, Baby? We got whatchu need, right boys?"

The bored whispers:

"She wouldn't know an age-appropriate pair of shoes if they stepped on her toes and sang the Star Spangled Banner.  Just ignore her girls."

"She couldn't walk in us if she tried!"

"ssshhhh.  She's not one of our kind"

The taunts:

"Clearance shopper.  Don't even waste your breath kids.  Hey. Purples.  Incoming!!"

"OMG, Chicken, do you even look in the mirror before you leave your house?"

"Ha.  Good luck with those cankles.  I think you're going to need a bigger shoe!"

And finally, the pity talk:

"Poor dear.  She's let herself go"

"Ohh...she seems nice...we should  try and help."

And amazingly,  through it all, the sales clerks remained oblivious.  Not one approached. I was left on my own to deal with the onslaught of judgement, harassment, snobbery and pity in this lonely shoe city.  I really just needed one good friend. One good  pair of black pumps that I could wear for a season; classic, comfortable, not too pricey and wide enough to accommodate the bunions.  Was it too much to ask?

I headed for the back of the store to the clearance rack.  You never know what you might find in the aisle of misfit shoes.  The purples shivered in their boxes, cowering away from the Toes Who Ate Tokyo. The blues wanted nothing to do with me.  The Greens refused to yield a shoe in my size.  The cacophony grew even louder,  I got overwhelmed.  I was about to give up and then I heard it.

A quiet, elegant voice from the end of aisle 5 called to me.  It said, "You should try me on,  Dear.  I think we might be a perfect match."  It was a pair of  Joan and David black leather kitten heels. They were a  classic pair of shoes with a reserved air, and heels that could back a chicken up through a long day of sales calls.  And they had a purple dot. 75% off?  Oh happy day!   But would they fit?  They would!

I bought them at once.   They thanked me for saving them from the hell of 300 sweaty feet per day trying to force a way inside their roomy toe boxes.  I wore them to work the next day, excited to have finally found a pair of moderate height shoes that I could walk in all day.  Or at least until 9:30 am.

At 9:30 am, my shoes and my feet started getting snippy with each other:

"You said you were a size 9. I think you lied.  You're a size 8.5, don't deny."

"I'm a size 9, you impudent peasants. YOU claimed to be a size 9 when clearly you are a size 9.5!  This would never happen in Europe. In Europe, feet know their size!"

"Oh yeah?  Well, in Europe, all the shoes have Mad Cow Disease!"

"You feet are such cretins.   How did we ever get stuck on you!"

"Oh, well, feel free to leave any time, Queens O' De Nile"

"Would that we could, but you ignorant feet have swollen so much we can't escape"

"Hey!  Hey,  you up there!  Call the rescue!  We're going to need the jaws of life to get free of these bitches."

"I'm not going down alone, feet.  I will take you with me."

And this is why I hate shoes.  They all turn on you.  Eventually.

They look trustworthy .  So did Ted Bundy.

Chicken and the Case of the Shoes that Tried Too Hard

Hi World,

I'm Chicken.  Sometimes I buy inappropriate footwear. 

Last winter, gripped by spring  fever and images of Orange County housewives cavorting in my head,  I bought platform wedge sandals.  I imagined wearing them with dresses, skirts, and  cute jeans throughout the summer.  I imagined the long, lean line they would give my legs.  I imagined  looking five inches taller and 20 pounds lighter.  I might have imagined being kidnapped by Eric Northman in full-on vampire mode, and not trying very hard to escape. It is not that easy to run in platform wedge sandals.

I should have imagined them sitting in my closet gathering dust.  

It's  not that I don't like them.  I try them on all the time.  I stand in front of the mirror, check out the front view, check out the back view, admire the longer leg line, then take them off and toss them back into the closet. 

Why can't I wear these shoes and feel Northman-worthy?

I suspect these shoes try too hard. These shoes are the spray-tanning, Pilates-practicing, lunch-doing, housewives of the shoe world.  These sandals say to the world, "Hey. World.  Look  at Chicken!  She's trying to look hot!  At her age!  Bwa ha ha ha ha ha."

Stupid, big-mouth shoes.  

You, Platform Wedge Sandals, are a liability I can't afford.  You might help me break my ankle or worse, make me look silly in public.  I'm  sending you away, Shoes.  It's for your own good. You may have a big mouth and youthful pretensions, but I've become fond of you.  You are too cute to spend the remainder of your trending years in a dark closet. 

Go on now.  Get out of here.  

Maybe you'll end up with a Lucky magazine guest blogger from Long Island known for her fresh take on old classics.  She'll pair you with denim on denim, a summer-weight scarf and a designer bag.  And that's just Monday's look!  Wait 'til you see what she comes up with for Dress Down Friday!  Ooh, you'll be so nonchalant and fabulous! 

Or maybe you'll catch the eye of a middle-aged bartender with a boob job, a dolphin tattoo and a Jimmy Buffet obsession. She'll wear you with big hoop earrings, a hot pink tank top, and white short shorts.  She'll still look pretty damn good for her age if she doesn't say so herself!  Which she will. After too many margaritas, she'll bust out with some impressive dance moves giving you work-outs you could only dream about, shut away in my closet with the other misfit shoes.

I 'm not telling you what to do, Shoes, but you'll have a better shot at running into Eric Northman with the bartender.

And if you see him, tell him "Hey" from  Chicken.  





Chicken out



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