Adventures at Midlife

Too many serious posts lately. Must lighten up. So I’ll blog about one of my less-noteworthy obsessions: Boots, preferably ones that fit.

Aside from the little plastic fur-topped boots of my childhood, my first serious encounter with boots came in high school and college in the ’70s. Frye boots, to be specific. The ultimate in hippie-chic in my little corner of the West. Square-toed, blond leather and indestructible. When I finally found a pair that I could squeeze my size-tens into (no small, er, feat), I wore them obsessively, even though they were snug and gave me blisters. (Why didn’t I just opt for a pair of men’s boots? They were almost exactly the same style…)

I never did wear white go-go boots, not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t find a pair that would accommodate my massive calves. I later learned to pull on boots and gradually inch them up over said calves for a reasonable fit, but by then, go-go boots were out — saving me money and probably years of embarrassment.

I still like boots, and I saw them everywhere when I was in London. The students found some really colorful and kicky Wellingtons in all colors and patterns on Portobello and Camden Roads that served them well in the rainy spring weather. And I’ve already blogged about my favorite British import, my trusty Doc Martens.

Boots really merge fashion and practicality, and they can look good with jeans as well as a little black dress. And so I was particularly pleased with the pair I recently found on sale in the dead of summer at Century 21 in NYC. The shoe gods were kind that day.

If you google or do an eBay search for boots, you’ll get a ton of thigh-high, plastic, stiletto-heeled options that never seem to make it out on the street, at least during the hours when I’m awake and at the locations where I hang around. (I lead a dull life.) So boots must be an obsession for more than just the likes of little old me.