I wouldn’t exactly say I have a foot fetish because nothing about toes turns me on. Nothing about anyone’s feet gets me going, if we’re being honest — which we are, because this is my big Honesty Month “confession,” but my interest in feet does border awfully close to obsessed. I stare at everyone’s feet, all the time, in shoes and out of shoes, socked and not socked. By “everyone’s” I mean my fellow women’s. Men, get yours all the way away from me with your long-ass nails. Super gross.
My thing with feet, my need to study what they look like, is centered around the shape of my own. Forever and ever, I have had bunions, which have only gotten knobbier and crankier with time.
People love to point them out to me as though I’ve never noticed. I repay them by detailing my my mother’s pregnancy, how I flipped over in her stomach and sat on my feet as a womb-baby, thus misshaping them forever. This makes people very sympathetic, which I like, so I leave out the time a podiatrist told me my bunions are genetic.
Whatever. The point is that my feet do not please the eye, which is fine — they’re fine! I’m lucky they exist, work and tolerate all that they do — but I don’t think they’re very attractive. Worse than that, they make certain shoes look bad. Ballet flats never look dainty on my feet. They look like sheets tangled around a squirming sleeper. Penny loafers look like dark brown croissants on me. Some heels are designed in such a way that, if any fabric cuts right at the bend between bunion and toe, it looks like two little boner chubs poking out. It’s as unfortunate as that sentence, I’m sorry to report.
My bunions have caused enough friction to burn holes in sneakers, boots, mules. They have made it impossible to wear certain sandals without cutting off the circulation to my toes. When people are like, “Oh, I just slipped these things on,” I’m like, “Oh, I JUST JAMMED MY WALKABLE BONES INTO CASKETS AND SUPPRESSED SCREAMS.”
But enough about me, this is about other people’s feet (other women’s feet), and how much I can’t stop admiring them. What I see when I stare at your flippers on the subway, if you catch me, are the feet I could possibly have in another life. I’m imagining if yours match those of Connie Britton if she were to play the cinematic version of me in a movie. I’m likely wondering what it would be like to wear flats without feeling like I’m tap dancing in pastries. In other words, I’m fantasizing, for sure, but not like that you creep.
In the name of honesty, and avoiding work on a Friday, want to join my strange train of thought and tell me in the comments section the body part of other people you admire from afar?
If it helps to get your brain jogging, I am also into staring at: hands, jaws, nails and hairlines. Oh my god, don’t get me started.
Photo by Patrick Demarchelier/Conde Nast/Contour Style by Getty Images.