§ Somehow this poor abused specimen of high fashion survived all the heckling and proudly wore her ridiculous shoes to her sister’s wedding. §
One of my favorite ways of wasting time used to be reading a Lifestyle news section that scoured the Net to find and share entries from interesting personal blogs. They were occasionally thought-provoking; sometimes frightening; often utter baloney; and frequently downright flabbergasting in their complete idiocy. I enjoyed reading them immensely.
In those innocent days (about two decades ago), one could even publicly comment at the end of these shared posts. Although I rarely did so, I clearly remember one of the few posts to which I ever replied.
The young woman who’d written the post was bitterly upset over the treatment she’d received from her family and friends when she and her husband travelled from New York, returning to her rural childhood home so that she could serve as bridesmaid at her sister’s upcoming wedding. This was during the Sex and the City era, when conspicuous consumption of insanely-expensive, foot-breakingly tall high heels was a huge fashion trend. Young Woman had received just such a pair of heels as a gift during the previous holiday season. She’d proudly packed them to wear at her sister’s wedding…to the absolute hilarity of her family.
Now, long before reading this post, I had personally given up wearing anything higher than kitten heels. Pain and then pregnancy had convinced me that wrecking my feet for the sake of fashion was perhaps not one of my brighter behaviors. But this young woman was obviously years from making that rational decision, and so wasn’t taking well her family’s jibes about her overpriced, overly-tall shoes. Worse yet, it seems, they underestimated the price of the shoes (the cost of which could probably have fed a family of four in a Third World nation for two years or more). No, she kvetched, they didn’t even recognize the value of the shoes, and their teasing went beyond good-natured banter; it was abuse.
To add to her distress, when she and her husband had to drop by the hometown Super Big Evil Mart, he was stared at by locals who just didn’t recognize the style and fashion of a great V-neck sweater. More abuse! This particular gripe set me to snickering as I recalled a class reunion and one couple who had returned from New York to our Midwestern city. They stood out as polished and sophisticated, both in dress and mannerisms, from our classmates; and, yes, they received a few stares just for that reason. People tend to gawp at anything unaccustomed or different; it’s simply human nature. But Young Woman obviously hadn’t lived long enough yet to grasp that fact.
Still, somehow this poor abused specimen of high fashion survived all the heckling and proudly wore her ridiculous shoes to her sister’s wedding. She even persuaded the photographer to completely re-arrange the planned family photos to account for her suddenly-taller stature. As I read her pathetic plaints, though, I couldn’t help but recall the lyrics of the very old Lonnie Donegan song, Putting on the Style. “Putting on the agony, putting on the style/that’s what all the young folks are doing all the while…” This gal was truly obsessed with putting on the style, whatever agony she might have to endure both in her own feet and from the “emotional abuse” she was dealt.
As her bellyaching little post wound down, though, I came to her final paragraphs, which described a comment made to her at the reception by the wedding planner. Describing said wedding planner in extremely unflattering terms that mocked her hairstyle and appearance, Young Woman nevertheless proudly recounted the planner’s compliment to her at the close of the day, “You really rocked those shoes!”
Wait a damn minute…. This Young Woman had wasted perhaps 800 words’ worth of my time with her moans, groans, complaints and kvetches about how much abuse she’d endured—and the one person, the one person in this entire scenario who compliments her, she herself abuses with belittling remarks about appearance? The word irony came strongly to mind…
There was, of course, a photo of her “ruby slippers” attached to this post. Glancing at them, I wondered how much Young Woman would someday need to pay a podiatrist to repair the wrecked bones, muscles and tendons of her feet. Then I scrolled through the comments, most of which admired the shoes, while a few sympathized with Young Woman for the terrible mistreatment she’d endured. Others were scathing in their responses to her pathos. None, though, mentioned her ironic insults of the kind wedding planner.
I simply couldn’t resist. Pressing the Reply button, I left, as I said, one of the very few comments I ever added to one of these entertaining Lifestyle posts. It was brief, pointed and pithy:
“Nice shoes, Barbie. But you really need to get over yourself.”