Fatal attraction
Selina Mills on how she lost her soul to shoes The first inkling that my life was about to change came when I mentioned casually over lunch to some acquaintances that I was off to a sneak preview of the tenth anniversary collection of ‘Vintage’ shoes by Jimmy Choo. Women I hardly knew suddenly began inviting me to the theatre, offering me the secrets of their family recipes, and practically prostrated them selves before me to become my NBF (new best friend) if only they could come on my adventure.
For those unacquainted, Jimmy Choo shoes, along with Manolo Blahnik, Christian Louboutin and the forefather of them all, Roger Vivier, are the Fabergé eggs of the shoe world objects of expensive delight (from £300 a pair) longed for by the many, owned by the few. Started in 1996 by Tamara Mellon, who saw a gap in the market for trendy but sophisticated shoes, Choo’s shoes became famous in 1998 after Carrie Bradshaw, the Sex and the City heroine, lost her lilac feather-trimmed slingbacks and spent an entire episode retrieving them.
At first, standing in the muted satin pink and chandeliered sanctum of the Choo empire on Sloane Street, I wondered what all the syco phancy was about as my femi nist principles require I do not get excited about some thing as frivolous as shoes. But as I slipped my toes into the Sex and the City slingback (£375), and the ‘Bambi’ Swarovski crys tal-studded Oscar shoe (£585), not to mention this season’s new winter ‘Planet’ gold thigh-high watersnake boots (£1,200), apart from being surprised I could actually walk in such shoes, I began to understand the truth about luxury footwear. Having a deluxe, fun, sophisticated shoe is akin to gliding around in a Jaguar XJS or drinking a Haut Brion ’89.
You simply purr and walk with verve and confidence.
Jimmy Choo, of course, does not have a monopoly on the market, and as I stood outside Manolo Blahnik waiting to be let in (I am sure my wallet was being scanned to ensure I could afford such elegant foot regalia) I also realised that shoe shopping is not just about how the shoe looks on your foot but how you feel in it. As I danced about in Manolo’s ‘Egidia’ (£420) suede fourinch heels, and pearl evening slip pers, which felt as soft as sanded silk, my ankles became slender and cute.
Strutting in front of the mirror, and being watched by sales girls who were shocked at my display of sheer happiness, even my posture changed — my legs arched, my hips swayed, and I stood more assertively than I had in years.
By the time I had reached the Knightsbridge temple of Christian Louboutin, who is known for his funky trend-setting platform evening and day shoes (Josephine £490), which made me feel like an urban warrior, any hope of starting an edu cation trust fund for my children was out the window. I heard one woman remark, as she handed over her credit card to pay for her fix, the reason she loved her shoes so much was that they never failed her. ‘I have been pregnant, overweight and gone up through many a dress size,’ she sighed, ‘but my shoe size remains the same.’ Her feet, she says, never get fat. She speaks for womankind, who obviously sucked up to me because they knew long before I did that if you are wearing a tired old T-shirt and frumpy jeans, are feeling plumper than you should and your hair is a mess, if your footwear is divine, you walk divinely. Trying on a pair of classic buckled Roger Vivier pumps, called the ‘Belle Vivier’ (£260), which could have been worn by my mother’s and grand mother’s generations (Vivier started designing shoes for Yves Saint Laurent in 1937, and was beloved of Catherine Deneuve in the 1960s), I saw that his shoes deserve their current renaissance because they are simply exquisite pieces of timeless art for the feet.
I am sure my old feminist friends will find my new-found philosophy appalling and argue that the heel has forced women into becoming nothing but objects of desire for men. Indeed, one saleswoman told me that she has a male client who spends over £10,000 a year on shoes, divided equally between his wife and his mistress. But I can assure you, now having reached shoe nirvana, no one is forcing us to buy these precious slippers. It’s a choice, based on the fact that a fabulous shoe is a wonderfully legal way of feeling, well, fabulous. This is why some women have whole cupboards and rooms dedicated to shoes and why Cinderella dropped a shoe, and not a glove, to lure her prince. As the old saying goes, if the shoe fits, wear it, baby, wear it.
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