I fucking love these shoes. I find them wonderful. They’re serious in that Wangian way but so indelibly fun because they look like mini, volcanic tikis that can erupt from the midway point of a woman’s foot. The creativity tethered to using a heavy old-school, golden telephone wire as an ankle strap as opposed to just, you know, an ankle strap is irreverent enough to justify (fine, not exactly) the steep price but here’s where I find myself at the intersection of doubtful and penny-pinching:
Do I really want to be the girl who wears a pair of shoes so discernibly indigenous to their season that even the least initiated shopper walking down the street could look at me and say: oh, nice, Balenciaga resort ’14 sandals. Cool.
OR, do I forgo that insecurity (because frankly, that’s what it is), bite the bullet and bask in loving with an obligatory, prerequisite fucking the definition of the fashion zeitgeist?