I have more shoes than I can ever possibly wear at the same time. Owning so many pairs of shoes causes me to examine my role in a corporation-run world pullulated by people that daily buy junk they don’t need. I only need one pair of shoes, right? None, if I ever manage to grow 198 feet. I’m still trying, but in the meantime, I have to wear shoes. I was looking for my next pair last night, when I put in a search for “squid shoes”. This is what followed.
Kermit Tesoro‘s squid shoes were among the first results to pop up. How can I not love them? How can I fail to imagine myself in them as I grow massively tall, and decide to take a stroll on… everything? Not to crush, of course; just to show off my height, and my beautiful Undersquid tentacles. And somewhere along the line, as I make my mark in the world, and on your streets, and your roofs, and your parks, and tenements, I happen to snag interesting things. I can picture a haul, an unexpected benefit from owning a pair of shoes such as these. This haul is different every day, depending on where I decide to burn a path; the treasures I find when I return to my giant dwelling vary in texture, looks, and flavors. I can see that one day, one of those little treasures is a man.
He’s still screaming, trying to get my attention, even as I extricate him from my shoes’s grasp. Too fascinated to respond, I turn him to and fro, the pad of my thumb glued to his chest. How extraordinary it is to feel his rapid heartbeat! Such a tiny organ, such a small-sized conjugation of blood flow, so fragile, and at my absolute disposal. I can feel my own heartbeat, much slower by comparison, and many times stronger. I could make space for him in my heart. Should I? Why not. He’s still trying to talk to me, and, done with my own thoughts, I decide to open my ears to his pleas. I smile down at him, and bring my index and thumb closer together just a fraction, to give him a reassuring hug. It works. Now he says nothing. My eyebrows touch and release as I notice that he might be struggling to breathe. Don’t worry about him. He’s perfectly well. He will always be well.
Sebastian Errazuriz‘s collection of 12 shoes also captured my attention. You can see why. The pair above is the first I spotted. The stories about the people that inspired this collection aren’t always flattering, but my own stories don’t always paint my little muses in the most favoring light. What’s important to me is that I want a pair of shoes that feature a little man serving the function of heel. I’d brave walking on high heels, for such a pair. Of course… I’d have to wait for him to switch positions every time I take a step. I’d be immensely tedious. No, no… immensely fun.
Unless I “recruit” another man to fill the void. I do think of ways to make my little guy’s life easier, you know? I suppose I’ll have to drag myself to the mall, walk around on the lookout for a beautiful man distracted by the screen on his phone, approach him from behind, tap his warm, rounded shoulder, and when he turns, spritz his face with my shrinking formula. Then I’ll wait until he becomes the right size, fish him out of that pile of clothes, and bring him close to my face to show him my approval of his new size. When he keeps on screaming, I’ll just shrug it off, whisper, “what a heel,” and when he screws up his face at the sad pun he’s yet to understand, I’ll know he’s ready to be brought into my bra.