For the Love of Shoes
Photo by Shane Karns
I’m going to date myself.
I own a pair of dance shoes that are reproductions of a 1940’s style wedge. I bought them when I was a swing dancer. I may have even bought them at a swing event (Monsters of Swing, perhaps?).
I only briefly dabbled in collecting and wearing authentic swing-era attire, or reproductions of the same, because A) it was expensive and B) I was punk rock. I preferred wearing a black-and-white Minor Threat t-shirt to a bright-colored poodle skirt when dancing at the Derby. (When I was teaching, it was a different story. A punk rock girl has gotta eat.)
Oh, but I loved my wedgies!
I loved them so much I couldn’t part with them when I stopped performing, nor when I stopped teaching.
I loved them so much I couldn’t part with them when the Derby closed or when Aris Allens became all the rage or when I finally(!) parted with swing.
I loved them so much I couldn’t part with them when I finally(!) decided to dance again … to the blues.
I loved them so much that when I, finally, after thirteen years, danced the soles right off, I duct-taped those suckers right back on.