You know that episode of Friends when Monica inherits a Victorian doll house from her grandma but won’t let anyone play with it because she thinks it’s too precious? That’s how I feel about expensive clothes. Sometimes I picture myself living in a beach house with a giant library and buying iconic designer pieces one by one. “Do they have Phoebe’s Yves Klein-inspired dress?” I imagine myself saying to a private shopper. “Throw in the pedicure pumps from spring 2013, too.” When the pieces arrive, I display them in the library and just look at them. I walk around them in a mask and cotton gloves. They mustn’t be touched.
The other day I snapped out of my fantasy. My husband decided to gift me expensive shoes for my 30th birthday. These are from a contemporary collection, an iconic pair from an iconic fashion house. They’ve been on my wishlist for a long time. The same wishlist that had the beach house with a giant library on it. I never thought I’d buy them. My first thought when I saw the box was “Wow, this guy must really love me because these are some ugly shoes.” (In the best possible way, obviously.) The second was “I can’t wear those. I’ll ruin them.” And I didn’t have to. As I opened the box my heart sank. They came with a scratch. My perfect expensive shoes have a scratch. And I didn’t even do it myself.
And it’s not just that. Their soles are lined with super delicate beige leather. Beige! These aren’t meant to be worn on non-carpeted surfaces. Even if they came in perfect condition and I decided to wear them, I’d ruin the soles as soon as I stepped outside of the house. So to make them wearable and functional outside, I have to take them to a shoe repair shop so they can resole them with rubber. I was puzzled. I love the beige soles but I can’t imagine that someone in the design office thought that was practical. They probably thought “You know what’d be SO beautiful and like SO rich people don’t care what they spend their money on kind of thing? Beige soles.” “Yeaaah, totally, let’s do beige soles. I love that, man.” Right? This must be how that conversation went.
I can imagine that rich people would spend money without thinking about things like practical soles. But what about us who do? What about the shop that thinks people won’t notice they sent them scratched shoes? Or that they won’t care? What about the designer? Don’t they feel guilty knowing that people will have to get their new expensive shoes resoled to be able to walk in them without falling on a rainy day?
It seems to me that clothes and shoes weren’t that sloppily designed before. I own a pair of vintage Chanel two-tone pumps that I got for a bargain. I spent 12 hours in them at a wedding recently. They didn’t hurt my feet, they held my ankles perfectly, and, most importantly, I wasn’t afraid to wear them because I might ruin them. The reason for that might be the fact that they weren’t as expensive as my new shoes and that they’ve already been resoled by the resale site I got them from. I guess I just don’t feel like throwing money down the drain if I ruin those.
Even though their soles are carelessly designed, my new shoes are beautifully made. I love them and cannot wait to wear them. And I kept thinking that the shop that sent me the scratched pair was simply telling me “They’re a gift. You’re gonna ruin them anyway so you might as well enjoy the ride.” Could you?