On the face of it, this writing prompt is easy – scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Well, frankly, there are tonnes of them. I really couldn’t care less about the winners of Love Island. I equally think Zendaya and Tom Holland should be allowed to walk their dogs in peace and quiet without ending up in a newspaper. I don’t care if Meghan Markle did or didn’t rip off Pamela Anderson’s cookery programme, and the sight of Lauren Sanchez struggling to walk on a shingle beach in heels really…isn’t news to me. It’s the second half of the prompt I struggle with – connecting any of these stories to my life. Because on the face of it, there is nothing in my life that is remotely connected to these examples.
But then, I am reminded of the day my brother-in-law got married and the vertiginous heels I was wearing three months after the birth of my son. I loved the shoes, had had them for years and worn them reasonably effortlessly prior to having my son, but somehow pregnancy had thrown off my centre of gravity and I found wearing these shoes indescribably difficult. I clung onto my husband like a vine especially when walking across the grass to get to where the photographs were being taken. Why had I worn them? Because they perfectly matched with my dress and I had an image for how I was going to look that day. A taupe coloured dress, shoes and handbag with purple accessories. Literally, no other pair would do. So I tottered around like a fool until the evening reception and the point in the night where most women had thrown off their shoes to dance.
I have another example. We were due to attend a summer event and, as I was walking to the tube station on Bond Street after work, I saw the most perfect sandals to match with the dress I had decided wear. There was barely anything to them, just a row of multi-coloured (think rainbow design) beads across the feet and a strap at the ankle. The rest of the sandal was white and had the requisite vertiginous heels. The shoes came with a matching beaded handbag which I still have to this day, some 20 years later. I loved them, and knew they would look great with the white dress I was wearing and the tan I had from holiday. Perfect. Except these shoes just killed my feet. The outfit looked amazing, I was in agony. Did I change my shoes? No, of course not. At the end of the evening, as I clutched onto my now-husband’s hand, I bemoaned my pain. He looked down at my feet and asked why I was wearing the shoes then…and I just looked at him. Aghast. Could he not see how fabulous the shoes were? I looked to my equally aghast friend. Could I continue in a relationship with a man who was so utterly oblivious to sartorial beauty? I had also had to cling on like a limpet when leaving the venue because I had to navigate a gravel drive to get to the taxi waiting for us which wasn’t easy a) in the heels, and b) given they hurt so much.
I will be honest, as I write this the memories of other shoes that killed me but that I ‘had’ to wear with that outfit are flooding back to me. The shoes I wore to Ascot…oh wow, that pain is etched in my memory. Endless pairs of shoes worn to work that were such a bad idea. Now, I’m not saying Lauren Sanchez was in pain with her shoes – though I bet she was on that shingle beach. Been there, done that. But she was prepared to risk breaking an ankle for the perfect look. And I get that. I have done that – and trust me, not because of a man. It has nothing to do with the man at your side. It has to do with you.
I don’t know Lauren Sanchez, obviously, and I likely never will. I have little to no knowledge of her because I will be honest and say I am not particularly interested in reading about the minutiae of her life with Jeff Bezos. I’m sure she’s a great lady, but the life of a billionaire is not one I have much in common with. Except this. I can totally and utterly relate to her wearing those shoes and clinging onto her husband’s hand while she navigated uncertain terrain. They look like great shoes, I probably would have done the same because they went with the dress, the summer vibe and going out for dinner in Ibiza with friends. I’ve worn ridiculous shoes out to dinner with friends in Ibiza. Because the shoes perfectly completed the outfit.
Now, I know this says something about me. I like things to match. When I worked in an office, I was infamous for everything matching. I’ve been like it since I was a little girl. I find things that don’t match, like contrasting patterns, visually jarring. I used to like all my Lever Arch files to be ordered in the bookcase in my office in colour coordination and height order. Anything else would quite literally drive me insane. I have to have my books in my bookcase ordered in height order or it grates on me. Terribly. And I like colour coordination. Otherwise it really starts to impact how I relate to things. I also like aesthetic beauty (my subjective opinion of what that means). I love architecture, it’s one of the reasons why I love to visit stately homes and cathedrals, I love the artistry that has gone into designing and building them. I admire anyone who can craft something beautiful out of a lump of stone. I find that ability utterly mesmerising. It is the same for how I love to look at art and wonder that someone’s hand has created that detail – a Canaletto or a Monet for example, I just find stunning. Portraiture is just…wow! I appreciate art hugely, I am not especially talented in the practice myself though my son is. And I am often spellbound watching him draw.
I can relate to Lauren Sanchez on that beach, the reason why she would wear those shoes despite the terrain she’s going to have navigate – there and back. Because there is a look she is going for, an aesthetic which is important to her. And, I get that. Maybe it’s something to build self-confidence, maybe it’s because, like me, things that don’t match are jarring for her. I will be honest and say I don’t think the story is ‘news’, it isn’t even gossip. It’s just a page filler for a news website. But, I can relate to her in that moment because I’ve been there.
Louisa Simpson 