Old school Shania Twain lyrics sum up how I’ll feel when we finally walk the streets of New York City together, fellow pedestrians’ heads turning at how perfect you look. From the first few times I saw you (electrically sexy in patent leather at Dior, sauntering around Dries Van Noten in striking pink brocade, a purple grape vision stealing the Givenchy show) my palms got sweaty, my head started spinning, and I just knew: We should be together.
Forget how I’ll never be able to wear skinny jeans or actual socks around you, or that — like all heady infatuations — there’s a good chance my obsession will pass. I’m positive that we’re going to be an unstoppable team, and here’s why:
1. Despite the unsettlingly balmy weather we experienced in December, winter is coming! Your fitted, extra long silhouette will keep my bare ankles toasty warm when I’m wearing shorter pants.
2. Speaking of shorter pants, I’ve been considering a dalliance with cropped kick flares. Together we’ll make an unbelievable threesome.
3. My #ihavethisthingwithfloors posts will no longer require pretty floors for a good picture because of you. Bring on the public bathroom linoleum!
4. Say I’m aiming to accessorize a skirt and tights combo one evening:Loafers will seem too school-girlish, heels too obvious and flat Chelsea boots too boring. Before I give the night up to Seamless Web’s siren song, you’ll swoop in and make me excited about seeing and talking to other humans again.
5. It’s super annoying when I’m at the grocery store and the carton of egg whites I want is on the top shelf of the freezer, and I half-heartedly pretend to reach for it until an employee comes to help. That big chunky heel you bring to the table is more than extra height — it’s extra independence.
6. Even if the flame of my love for you fades, one day I might have a daughter that holds her own torch. And let’s just ignore how the metaphor got really creepy there by simply picturing the nice Hallmark moment I’ll have passing cherished old shoes down to a new generation.
7. Jeanne Damas in crushed velvet trousers. Shoe drop. Yea, shoe — these boots don’t need a mic.
