The best pair of shoes I ever bought to this day are a pair of Charlotte Russe peep-toe wedges. They have a yellow outline and a yellow bow at the toes. And they’re covered in different shades of yellow rosette prints.
My second favorite pair is a pair of classic fire truck red open toe heels. They are as bright and delicious as a ripe apple. Every woman needs at least one pair of red high heels. That’s a given. It doesn’t actually matter if she wears them or not, as long as she has a pair. She needs to own a pair so that when she looks in her closet every day to decide what shoes go with what dress, she can say to herself, “I’m glad I have those red high heels.” That’s what I think, anyway.
Sometimes I think I have a disease in that I’d rather look at my shoes in my closet than wear them. I just want to collect every pair Betsey Johnson’s ever made and then stare of them every night before I go to sleep, and then again when I wake up in the morning to make sure I’m not dreaming.
I like Betsey because her shoes are wild, bold, and colorful. They’re bright, extraordinary, and insanely delicious. She combines bright and bold patterns with things women only dream about. They’re sexy and funky at the same time. They’re mean and sweet at the same time. They’re spicier than extra spicy salsa, and more guilty than eating a whole chocolate cake by yourself … in one sitting. Betsey is naughty and I love it. If I could afford her shoes, I would buy them all. If I could afford Betsey though, I’m sure I could afford all the Rampage, Chinese Laundry, and Naughty Monkeys I wanted. But I’d want Betsey the most. I’ll always want Betsey.
That’s because, for me, shoes have to be thrilling. They should be able to tie an entire outfit together. They should be so beautiful that you could stand for hours in front of the mirror and stare at them. They should be fabulous enough to stop traffic in New York City. She should be so stunning that when you walk down the frozen food aisle at the grocery store in sweatpants and a baseball hat you feel like a princess.
So when I think shoes, I think Betsey. And when I think Betsey, I think better-than-sex-and-better-than-chocolate-cake. Yes, that means I would give up a chocolate ice cream cake and a night with Chace Crawford for ten minutes in a Betsey pair. Does that mean I have a disease? If so, I don’t want to be cured.