I have never thought much about shoes. I am of the “sensible flats” school of women’s footwear, and not solely because it reflects my personality. (Okay, you can stop with the eye-rolling, now. You know who you are.) When I was twenty, I fell over jumping down a flight of three very small steps at Senior House at MIT (I was falling down drunk (literally!) at the time), breaking my left ankle and tearing the ligaments on the outside of my lower left leg. Ever since then, any shoe which concentrates my weight on a small part of my foot hurts to wear.* (This would include the black-velvet stilettos — the nicest shoes I have ever owned — I had bought a few months before the accident. I held on to those shoes for maybe ten years before I emerged from denial long enough to give them to Goodwill.)
These shoes, however, I would buy just to look at them. These, ladies and gentlemen, are not shoes, but works of art.
Of course, in the end, they would just be something else to accumulate dust. Not to mention that I probably have better uses for the $1,095 list price.
*I also can’t ice skate for very long for the same reason. See, there’s almost always a silver lining.