Sorry to disappoint the Caliphs of Cliche, but (wrong choice buzzer sound) ... none of the above. Especially about the shoes.
I've never understood the shoe thing. I looked at Imelda Marcos and wondered why. Thought Carrie Bradshaw's obsession was stupid and silly. Marveled that anyone would pay so much for the name Blahnik or a red sole.
My attitude extends back into childhood, when my Donald Duck feet kept me away from all those cute little-girl shoes. The only ones wide enough for me were penny loafers from Sears. Let's see ... for this school year, do I want brown or black? Shoes were boring and necessary, not fun and stylish.
Shoe shopping continued to be a lifetime pain, "pain" being the operative word. I could wear pretty shoes if I was willing to have my feet hurting all the time, or I could buy "grandma shoes," "nun shoes," "orthopedics" or just plain "ugly shoes." Guess what: I opted for pain and the development of bunions. I tried to fit in, wrecking my feet in the process.
Finally, when I turned 40, I decided to stop the nonsense. Wearing heels hurt, so I switched to flats. I still strove for a little style, and finding a decent fit continued to be a chore, but I left behind the notion of shoes as a fashion statement. I had to walk my own way.
It took me a long time and a lot of pain (including an unsuccessful bunion surgery) to learn the simple lesson of not following the crowd ... but here I am, learning it again, this time when it comes to another type of fit: matching a book to its potential readers.
What I'm finding is that the usual venues, like bookstore signings, don't seem to work for Fish-Eye Lens. This paean to island life needs an island or a beach, not shelves and stacks. So forget the city shoes; hand me those flipflops.
Feets, don't fail me now.