Customer X walks into the store. "My feet hurt," she says. "If I can't get this figured out I'm going to have to go under the knife."
I listen sympathetically and ask the right questions to clarify what's really going on. With feet alone, we see daily such injuries as plantar fasciitis, sprains, stress fractures, achilles tendonitis, Morton's neuroma, neuropathy, arthritis, and many, many more. Plus, you'd better believe that it's never just the feet. If the feet hurt, something else is wrong somewhere too. The very worst feet problems often begin in the head. Which is not to say they are imaginary. Keep reading.
Right before I tell my Customer X to remove her shoes, I have her stand up so that I can feel the length of the pair she is currently wearing. Nine times out of ten the shoe is either too short, too narrow, or both. "We may need to go up half a size," I suggest oh-so-delicately, secretly suspecting that we're talking about a full size-and-a-half. But I can't tell X this. Not if I don't want to get hit or spit on.
Right before I tell my Customer X to remove her shoes, I have her stand up so that I can feel the length of the pair she is currently wearing. Nine times out of ten the shoe is either too short, too narrow, or both. "We may need to go up half a size," I suggest oh-so-delicately, secretly suspecting that we're talking about a full size-and-a-half. But I can't tell X this. Not if I don't want to get hit or spit on.
Her eyes narrow. Her lips purse. This is when I decide to humor X. I disappear into the stock room and retrieve the size in question.
"This is perfect!" she exclaims as I gently cram her foot into a hole that's sphincter tight.
"This is perfect!" she exclaims as I gently cram her foot into a hole that's sphincter tight.
I appeal to X's reason. I demonstrate with my hands and forearm how the size of the foot when standing is different than the size of the foot when running. I explain that to fully absorb the impact of landing the feet need to be able to spread out all the way. "If your shoes are too short you lose your springs. And the impact is absorbed into the arch of the foot, up the calf, into the knees, and even into the spine. But the good news is that there's something you can do. You don't need surgery. You just need shoes that fit."
The really brave X's nod mournfully but say something like, "What you say makes sense and I'll try a bigger size but I'm not happy about it."
Most of the time they ask, "Is Miguel working today?"
I try not to take it personally when they request my boss. He is, after all, a guru (and a cute one too).
X looks so heartbreakingly hopeful when Miguel wheels his stool up to her. She is counting on him to make this right because that's what gurus do. "Tell me what's going on," he says, giving her his full attention (with those soulful brown eyes).
X looks so heartbreakingly hopeful when Miguel wheels his stool up to her. She is counting on him to make this right because that's what gurus do. "Tell me what's going on," he says, giving her his full attention (with those soulful brown eyes).
X retells her story. Only this time she ends it with something like, "You guys suggested I go up half a size last time, and I did, and now I'm wondering if my shoes being too big is what caused all the problems in the first place."
At this point, even though I know better, my stomach starts doing flip-flops. Do I need to call my attorney brother? Can a person be sued for selling too-roomy a shoe? Miguel feels the toe while X avoids making eye contact with me. She suspects--as do I--that I'm on the verge of being fired (and what will it matter then that my shoes fit right? I'll be too depressed to run).
Miguel informs X matter-of-factly that the glass slipper is, indeed, not a match. Cinderella has already left the ball. X doesn't question Miguel because of the whole guru thing, but now she's on the verge of tears. Here's where I get to rush in and play good cop. "Running & walking shoes aren't sized the way shoes are sized in a department store," I explain. "Everyone goes up at least half a size. I went from being a size nine to a size ten in less than a year." For good measure I tell her how much faster I'm running (though I leave out the part that I'm still part turtle).
The above scenario stems in part from the fact that women don't know how a shoe is supposed to feel. As women, we are trained from birth to be accommodating and to not make a fuss when uncomfortable. Shoes too small? Simply curl your toes. Do the sides hug your feet too tightly and pinch your baby toe? Women like hugs and we're sadly all too used to being pinched (just ask any woman who's ever had to ride standing on a commuter train).
The other day I went running with a dear friend (who would no doubt prefer to remain nameless now and forever more because that's just how she rolls). For the sake of this post I'll call my friend Owl since she is so very wise and since she flies when she runs. Like me, Owl has struggled with body image issues all of her life, even though she is stunningly beautiful, thin, and has a most excellent sense of style. Owl and I both realize that in theory we're fit and fabulous. But our hearts fail to make the leap of faith from theory to reality.
Owl and I talk about this on our run. "I know this is so lame," I begin, "but I've always felt that the less space I occupy the more powerful I am."
"It's not just a feeling," she retorts. "It's a fact. And by the way, they teach this kind of thing at business school."
We run in silence for a few minutes, ruminating on the injustice of it all.
"You're so beautiful and thin," I tell Owl.
"You're so beautiful and thin," she quips back.
Neither of us feels consoled.
Even as as I write this I am in a bad mood because I'm "up" about five pounds (and can no longer attribute the problem to "too much salt"). I know this is pathetic. There are people starving all over the world who would kill to have my problems. But I will not lie to you. This extra weight weighs heavily upon my sense of well-being. I feel isolated. I feel less lovable. I feel punished. And so what if I brought it upon myself by consuming all that almond-butter in the name of emotional eating? Truth be told, I'd kind of like to hole up for a few weeks away from society until I'm a little thinner. I hate to say this, but I honestly feel like I'm more deserving of your attention when I'm a little bit littler. I know this is not rational thinking. Several of my closest friends and advisors are beautiful, curvy women. And I don't think they need to lose an ounce. I'm actually a little disappointed that Jennifer Hudson has lost so much weight. I thought she was pretty perfect before. But logical or not, I hold myself to a different (and unhealthy) standard.
I started this post as a rant. Why is it that so many women are willing to sacrifice their health and well-being for such a silly thing as a number? Why is it that sane and intelligent women would rather have foot surgery than buy a bigger shoe? To my way of thinking, you might as well have a cigarette and binge on powdered donuts while you're at it (and as an aside: if your shoes are too tight eventually you're going to be too injured to be active and then everything will expand). But as I'm writing this and thinking about my own struggles with body-image issues, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe a different approach is required on my part. What I thought was simply a vanity problem is in reality so much more. Feet are a part of a woman's femininity every bit as much as her hips, waist, and boobs. I might think I'm saying to Customer X, "You'll be so much more comfortable and healthy in shoes that fit right" but what she hears is "You're a giant and a freak and you're going to die a lonely old woman with foot fungus and it doesn't matter how smart you are, no one is going to care what you have to say six months from now if you give in and get a bigger pair of shoes."
I started this post as a rant. Why is it that so many women are willing to sacrifice their health and well-being for such a silly thing as a number? Why is it that sane and intelligent women would rather have foot surgery than buy a bigger shoe? To my way of thinking, you might as well have a cigarette and binge on powdered donuts while you're at it (and as an aside: if your shoes are too tight eventually you're going to be too injured to be active and then everything will expand). But as I'm writing this and thinking about my own struggles with body-image issues, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe a different approach is required on my part. What I thought was simply a vanity problem is in reality so much more. Feet are a part of a woman's femininity every bit as much as her hips, waist, and boobs. I might think I'm saying to Customer X, "You'll be so much more comfortable and healthy in shoes that fit right" but what she hears is "You're a giant and a freak and you're going to die a lonely old woman with foot fungus and it doesn't matter how smart you are, no one is going to care what you have to say six months from now if you give in and get a bigger pair of shoes."
So I guess we're not talking about a number after all. I guess we're not just talking about feet. Like weight, a woman's feet play into her sense of power and worth. I wonder it's easier for women to hear the news about shoe size from Miguel than it is for them to hear it from me. While Miguel is "other" (being a man), I am one of their own. Every woman in the world knows that no one judges a woman harsher than another woman.
Practically speaking, what's to be done about all of this?
If ever I'm to make peace with my own body, I need to be more patient and tolerant of my customer's relationship to her feet. I need to respect that for women, shoe size is emotional and social. Perhaps it would be better if I discreetly appeared with the right size and blacked out the number at the time of purchase? An idea comes to me. We must petition the shoe companies and beg them to consider vanity sizing. I mean, look how well this has worked in the fashion world. I'm WAY more likely to drop 150 dollars on a pair of size 29 seven jeans than a size 30 (or 31). With vanity shoe-sizing, everyone would win. The moguls at Nike and Asics would get fat (phat?) on their riches. And women everywhere would get to keep their pride and health. On a more global level, we must teach our children that getting the right-sized shoe is just as important as brushing one's teeth or eating broccoli.
I could go on and on about feet but I'll sign off for now. I wouldn't want you to think I have a foot fetish.