Satisfying that shoe envy

I’ve never been the type to suffer from shoe envy. My footwear can be described as sensible at best and embarrassing at worst. I still wear the same pair of sneakers I bought in college: threadbare in the sole, cracked around the toe. They’re gray, frumpy, and insanely comfortable.

My work attire has been better, but only arguably so. When I moved from a casual workplace to a more formal office environment last year, I knew my scuffed flats and well-loved heels weren’t going to cut it. Beyond looking unkempt, I do quite a bit of walking now. My shoes suddenly needed to be both comfortable and dress code appropriate.

Turns out these two qualities are, in fact, mutually exclusive.

Or, well — so I was beginning to believe.

After burning through pair after pair of black, beige and even red flats, I started to feel like I was setting my money on fire. They all fell apart quickly — even the pricier ones — and offered me blisters with my side of frustration.

I think about my husband: a man with just four pairs of shoes that he wears until they disintegrate. Black dress shoes, sandals, and two pairs of near-identical sneakers: the working-aroundthe-yard pair, and more acceptable daily-wear pair. Spencer gets no blisters. It’s not just about aesthetics. I really need all the motivation to move that I can get. Wearing uncomfortable shoes is a surefire way to guarantee I’ll be parked at my desk all day. As I continue my (lifelong, no doubt) quest to get active, I just can’t deal with painful feet.

There was a time I cared about looking cute and trendy, but that time is not now. I’m a thirty-something mother of two with more white hair than brown at the temples, and I’m tired and stressed and just really do not want my feet to hurt.

Until last month, I was beginning to think I was doomed to wander the earth in battered, painful, annoying shoes. What do other women do? How do we solve this problem? Was it me and my weird feet, or was there some sort of conspiracy to keep us all suffering so we don’t take over the world?

I began to hear whispers of a ballet flat called Tieks, described by true believers as the most comfortable shoes in the world. They’re made of leather that gradually molds to your foot, creating the “perfect” flat, and I was intrigued . . . until I saw the price. That sent me back to Target. Target is where I belong.

But I didn’t stop dreaming of Tieks. And speaking of being “targeted” — online marketing wouldn’t let me forget about them, either. Ads for Tieks began appearing daily in my Facebook feed — and even when I wanted to move on, to return to my basic-flat life, I could not.

Mother’s Day approached, and Spencer asked me what “the kids” might like to get me as a gift. We generally don’t do big presents, and I hesitated before sharing the single item on my wish list.

Flowers are lovely and candies are kind, but I asked Spence for what would really make a daily difference in my life: ballet flats that aren’t terrible. Like any good (older) millennial, I read countless reviews on Tieks before making my request, and asked the internet ridiculous questions about them that could only be answered in oddly-specific blog reviews.

This was an investment, see. My clothing generally comes from a department store clearance section or one of the neatly-arranged racks at Hooks & Hangers, my favorite local resale shops. With two young kids and all the bills associated with adulthood, I rarely splurge on anything new for myself. It doesn’t seem necessary. Plus, I enjoy the hunt.

Tieks, then, were a major splurge. A serious one. But after taking the time to thoroughly research, I felt ready to commit.

I thought my husband, no fashionista, might balk at the price, but the trademark turquoise box appeared on Mother’s Day. Seeing it, I felt the same excitement I had the first time I got a “cool” pair of sneakers in middle school. Sometimes shoes really can bring happiness.

Friends, these matte-black babies have changed my life. No one is paying me to say this: I just really, really love these flats. They’re flexible, cute, sturdy, professional. I can walk all day without the pain that once made me shuck off my shoes and drive home barefoot. They’re breathable and hold no moisture, so nothing rubs. Even my weird toes don’t hurt from any pressure. That never happens.

I enjoy walking again. Instead of emailing coworkers, I take myself on a nice little stroll: getting in steps, taking in the sunshine, not wanting to cut off my feet. Life is sunny.

The only problem? Like a good cup of coffee, one is just not enough. Tieks come in dozens of colors, all more gorgeous than the last, and my practical black pair will eventually get lonely and need a friend. There are certainly plenty to choose from, and I could spend hours salivating over the collection. (Not that, you know, I would ever do such a thing.)

Ah, well — better start saving now. Always good to have a dream.

And who knows which color I’ll love best in 10 years?