When I first saw this pair of Christian Louboutin slingbacks, I was...intrigued.
"Oh, that clever Christian!" I mused, "look how he has taken the cork heel trend to its delightfully ironic limit and made a whole shoe that looks like it's made of cork! What a brilliant meta commentary!"
But then I continued reading Saks Fifth Avenue's description, and discovered that doesn't just look like cork, it is cork. And some damn expensive cork too: $660 to be exact. I mean, theoretically, with a slab of cork, a pen knife, and a lot of time, I could craft myself a pair of these babies (in fact, maybe the designer should market a Make Your Own Louboutins! kit that contains instructions and the aforementioned items and price it some steal of a deal like $300).
Okay, yeah, so maybe whenever I see, like, a ceramic bowl or a painting, or a houseboat, I scoff, "Psh! Why would I buy that? I could make that!" and then I go home and don't make it because, turns out, I don't have the tools or the skill or the time or the motivation, and then I get kind of sad that I didn't buy it because I secretly really wanted it but I can't abandon my self righteous I-could-make-that kick now so I just resign myself to living a life without joy.
But let's pretend for a moment that my "I could make that!" attitude is not a sad truth but actually a deeper observation--so maybe I couldn't really make these shoes, but if it looks like I could make them, I'm not sure I want to pay triple digits for it. I think this was my problem when assymetrical hemlines were all the rage. As a completely incompetent seamstress, all my attempts at shortening skirts or dresses accidentally came out looking like very purposefully crafted handkerchief hems. Naturally, I was vehemently against the clothing that looked like this on purpose.
After roiling in my own shoe confusion for awhile, I thought, if I'm this painfully baffled, I wonder how the men would feel about these? So I asked them:
Brother, age 12: (Confused) They look like that kind of wood that's like a bunch of bark chips glued together. And they only have a little red on them. All shoes should have a lot of red on them, cuz red is my favorite color. People should acknowledge that I have a favorite color.
(Jesus, someone's got some issues.)
Brother, age 17: It's a shoe. Made out of barkdust. What do you want me to say?
Brother, age 20: Good luck matching an outfit to these! Also, I cannot recall any point in my entire life when I have even noticed that any other person was wearing shoes. Much less actually looked at them. So I really don't understand this female shoe thing.
(Okay, yeah, these seemed to bring up some issues for all of my brothers.)
Boyfriend: Hmm... Hmm... Love cork. Love the shoe style. But the two don't mix.
(I've dated the boy for three years and I had no idea he loved cork. I didn't even know a person could love cork. It seems kind of like loving drywall or something, although if you love cork, that's totally cool. I might even date you.)
The Father: Huh. (Studies them intently, stroking his chin) It looks like chip board...secondary wood waste or something. And while they look marginally functional, they don't look anywhere close to being worth $660. Cork. Pfffttt. Big deal.
I've gotta say amen, Dad, amen.