With the cool days of fall upon us, I’ve been able to unearth my favorite boots from the back of the closet. Sleek and black, with impossibly long pointy toes and short pointy heels, these boots walk the fine line between evil and elegant, silly and sexy. The E-Man calls them Grinch shoes. The children think they were made by elves. I rather like to think they’re what the Wicked Witch of the West would wear on a hot date. Love them or hate them, these boots demand an opinion.

They’re Isaac Mizrahi’s and sport a lovely long seam down the center of the vamps, highlighting all their slender, sharp-toed glory. The impossible tips invite admiration and fear. Ooh baby, they’re sexy—but make a wrong move and they’ll land in a spot of the anatomy that can readily receive them. Likewise the spike heels are low enough to keep me steady on my feet and narrow enough to elicit a gasp. Stopping just above my  ankle, my boots are topped with a line of fine decorative stitching and an improbably small and sweet bow, like a coy smile that can be interpreted a dozen different ways.

Having these boots in my closet is like having a race car parked in the garage. When I slide these boots on, I think two things: fast and sharp. Most of my shoes are station wagons—sturdy, practical, and oh so to the right. But not my Isaac’s. No, no, no. When I pull them out of their hot pink and orange box and slide their zippers up, my heart hits the accelerator, and pulls into the passing lane. Out of my way, world. These boots are made for V-Grrrl. 

© 2005 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.

October 12, 2005