If I were married to Rex Ryan (whoa, scary thought), we would certainly be divorced by now. I like him well enough. I mean, I enjoyed watching some episodes of HBO’s “Hard Knocks.” (What? A fashionista can’t love football?) For those of you who don’t follow sports as rabidly as I do, Rex Ryan is the husky head coach of the New York Jets. And in December 2010, he was exposed for having an interesting, rather creepy foot fetish. Just Google “Rex Ryan Foot” –or get a kick out of this from TMZ.
I, on the other hand, do not like feet. They’re funny looking. They sweat. A lot. They smell. They’re sometimes hairy. You can’t put lipstick on a pig? Well you can’t put nail polish on your funky toes either!
My own "lipstick on a pig"
Don’t get me wrong, I’m in awe of my feet. They’ve carried seven-times-my-weight as I’ve pounded the pavement over many miles and many years. And they haven’t rebelled yet by besieging me with plantar fasciitis, Morton’s neuroma or ingrown toenails. So what’s the secret to appeasing the podiatric gods?
Here is my one Indisputable Rule for Shoes (I.R.S.): if they’re not comfortable from the get-go, they NEVER will be. No stretching out, gel-injected insoles or fancy orthotics will ever make it better. And adorning your feet with a patchwork of visible Band-Aids, corn cushions and padded moleskin is not exactly stylish. All those haughty New York fashion publicists who swear that scampering around in 6-inch Louboutins is a breeze? Hmm, is that why they’re scowling all the time?
I for one have fully embraced the comfort shoe category. They’re not fuddy-duddy, geriatric-looking occupational shoes anymore. Really! But while I bow at the altar of my sensible ECCO Mary Janes, Paul Mayer flats, and Tretorn Tournaments, they’re way too pedestrian (haha) to be photographed.
Lest you think I’m a Communist who wears a Snuggie and Birkenstocks, I do still rock some bitchin’ fine heels on occasion:
Anne Klein Collection. Price upon request. Hours of wearing till I want to kill someone: 2
Gucci. Price upon request. Hours of wearing till I want to kill myself: 1
Tod's. Price upon request. Will suffer for as long as necessary.
Rex, darling, please contain yourself.