Is anyone else profoundly a(e)ffected by these shoes? I am not above sweeping trivialities and though I know cats are among the best thing to happen to the internet (see: their meteoric rise to substantial fame by way of Instagram,) since Man Repeller (lol, jk,) I never really imagined they could become “the best thing” to happen to my feet, too. Historically, I am a dog person. Give me a puppy and I will make a decent man of him. Give me a cat, however, and I will (unintentionally, I swear,) expedite the course of his/her ostensible nine lives.
Our tumultuous relationship predates the internet though–to one of my very first friendships circa 1993. My best friend had a cat named Milky and that broad was mean. I was instructed never to acknowledge her existence, much less wave hello. She was a beautiful little thing though. Enchanted by her white ass skin and bright green eyes, I found it near impossible to believe the tales (and subsequent proof, many pillows in my friends home and even a pair of my shoes went ravaged through the course of Milky’s life) that outlined her vulgarity. “Like a tiger,” my friend would assure. “Beautiful on the outside, angry on the inside.”
On one play-date though, she looked particularly sweet and I simply couldn’t help myself. Her skin so soft and eyes so pure, I had effectively no choice but to reveal my index finger, maniacally flexing in a brief, insouciant nod to her existence. It said nothing short of, “look, I am scared of you, but I also think I love you.” In response, I received teeth through my finger–sneaky little hooker could jump real high–and that was the end of my relationship with cats.
The fundamental difference, I have learned, between dog people and cat people rests in an appreciation for honesty–dogs will never surprise you like that. What you see is what you get and what you get is friendship.
At last though, here I am. Somewhat smitten, a bit perplexed. Those babies are high heeled. And what’s manifesting up in my bean looks as follows:
Jay-Z t-shirt, blue velvet pant suit, red velvet cats. End scene. Light wash peg leg ripped skinny jeans, over-sized white mens blouse, black sweater, black velvet cats. End scene.
It doesn’t happen very often that my entire wardrobe feels inadequate because of something as marginal as one meager pair of shoes, but when it does happen, I really have to wonder: shall I or shan’t I? Then again though, is it cheap, inauthentic, downright fake for me to take a dip into my savings, dish out a full $695 in order to achieve what can be described only as exclusive respect for inanimate cats,? This is a deep moral dilemma that needs the crutch of your practicality. Better yet, just answer me this: have I officially lost it?
Charlotte Olympia cat pumps, $695. (Cat images via Google, Cats of Instagram)