Years ago, I remember watching women walk through Madison on sweltering July days wearing full business suits, nylons, and white athletic shoes.
They were probably in midlife.
Although now that I think about it, many of them were likely younger than I am today.
They’d be power-walking down the sidewalk in shoulder pads and pantyhose, sensible white sneakers on their feet, their actual office shoes presumably tucked inside a bag.
Gotta get those steps in.
At the time, it seemed perfectly normal.
The sneakers were for transportation.
The heels were for being taken seriously.
Once they reached the office, the comfortable shoes disappeared under the desk and the professional shoes came out.
What an exhausting little costume change we all agreed was necessary.
Now I wear white sneakers with nearly everything.
Dresses.
Jeans.
Linen pants.
Skirts.
Things I wear to dinner.
Things I wear to meetings.
Things I wear when I want to look pulled together but also want to continue having circulation in my toes.
Somewhere along the way, the shoes women once hid became the shoes we intentionally built the outfit around.
And frankly, I think this is progress.
I Didn’t Know Comfort Could Be a Value
A few years ago, I did a values exercise and discovered that one of my top five personal values is pleasure/comfort.
Honestly, I didn’t even know I was allowed to choose that.
Comfort sounded less like a value and more like something you admitted when you had given up.
I thought values were supposed to be things like courage, integrity, ambition, service, or excellence.
Something noble.
Something you could have engraved on the wall of a corporate retreat center.
Comfort felt suspiciously close to sweatpants.
But once I saw it written down, so much of my life made sense.
I like a comfortable home.
I want people to feel comfortable around me.
I work best when my environment feels calm.
I want clothes I can breathe in, furniture I can curl up on, and shoes that allow me to walk farther than the distance between the restaurant and the parking lot.
Comfort is not laziness for me.
It is how I make enough room in my body and brain to enjoy my actual life.
Then I Had Bunion Surgery
I’ve had bunion surgery on both feet, which ended any remaining fantasy that I might someday return to wearing delicate little kitten heels for hours at a time.
Heels are out.
I am not mourning them.
Give me a sweet pair of white sneakers all day.
Give me a Dr. Scholl’s wedge.
Give me a TOMS wedge that provides a little height without requiring a blood sacrifice from the ball of my foot.
I still like getting dressed.
I still care about looking good.
I just no longer believe looking good and feeling terrible are required to happen at the same time.
That may be one of the greatest gifts of getting older.
You begin questioning rules you once accepted without discussion.
Who decided a painful shoe looked more professional?
Who decided comfort meant you weren’t trying?
Who decided a woman needed to arrive at work in one pair of shoes and immediately change into another before anyone important saw her?
We were walking through July in nylons.
Surely we have suffered enough.
The Life I’m Actually Dressing For
At this point, I’m not buying shoes for a theoretical life.
I’m buying them for the life I actually live.
A life that includes walking through airports, standing on stages, wandering garden centers, going out to dinner, touring cities, checking on animals, and occasionally chasing something around Storybook Hill that has escaped through a gate.
I want shoes that can participate.
That is what my white sneakers do.
They make almost everything in my closet easier to wear.
They let me walk without thinking about my feet.
They help me feel like myself rather than a woman dressed for a role I stopped auditioning for years ago.
The older I get, the less interested I am in enduring unnecessary discomfort just because someone once decided it looked polished.
I still want to look cute.
I would simply also like to keep all of my toes.
So give me the sneakers.
Give me the wedges.
Give me the clothes I can move and breathe and live in.
Comfort made my top-five list.
And now that I know I’m allowed to choose it, I intend to dress accordingly.
