Kinky boots, ruby slippers, and the magic of shoes
January 30, 2007 at 9:13 Last night E and I watched the movie Kinky Boots, which is based on the true story of a traditional shoe factory in England that was on the brink of closing until it ventured into an unexpected niche market—making stiletto heels for drag queens.
The movie was very well done, mixing comedy and drama as the makers of wingtip oxford for respectable men move to creating quality red patent leather and snakeskin high-heels for men who enjoy dressing as flamboyant women.
To paraphrase the factory manager, “We’ve always made a certain type of shoe for a variety of men. Now we’ll be making a wide variety of shoes for a certain type of man”
In the process of telling the factory manager’s story, the film engages the viewer in thoughts on entrepreneurship, loyalty, family expectations, and the slippery slope of gender and sex roles.
The movie brought back memories of my years selling shoes in the Midwest, and my brief encounters with a transvestite who came in every so often looking for women’s pumps in Size 12.
We never had anything even close to his size, a message the store manager always delivered in a brisk authoritative voice that conveyed, “Don’t even ask, and please get the hell out of my store.”
It wasn’t until I saw Kinky Boots that I considered the drag queen’s point of view and how much courage it took to enter a family shoe store in Oklahoma and ask about getting a pair of red pumps in Size 12.
Then again, I’m not so sure the drag queen fully recognized he was pushing boundaries because he didn’t seem to be fully clued into social norms in general. I think he had some larger mental health problems and cross-dressing was probably the least of his issues. He was a fixture in the downtown area, sometimes appearing in drag, sometimes dressed as a man, always seemingly lost in his own world in a way that was disconcerting though not menacing.
During my years as a Shoe Selling Grrrl, I belonged to the Episcopal Church that was downtown and served on the altar guild. On certain Saturday nights, I went to the church to set up for the next day’s service. My role included polishing the silver chalice and paten, washing and ironing the altar linen, and shining the brass candlesticks, collection plates, vases, and other items used on the altar. It took an hour or two to get everything done, and I tried to do it all late on Saturday afternoons to avoid being alone in the church complex at night. It was a little creepy after dark.
I often chastised myself for being anxious about being alone in the church at night. What exactly was I afraid of? What made me shiver when the lights were out? Was it instinct? Intuition? Or a foreshadowing of what lay ahead?
Because one Saturday night someone did end up entering and robbing the church, but they didn’t take the valuable silver altar pieces or search for money. Instead they stole several chausables, the vestments the priest dons before celebrating Holy Eucharist. Those are the ones that resemble big ponchos and usually feature gold thread embroidery and other lavish embellishments.
Who would steal chausables? The very thought made my skin crawl. Was someone using them in punked out religious rites? Were there Satan worshippers in our small town in the Bible Belt? Did someone think this was funny?
Nope. As it turns out it was nothing that sinister, someone just thought they were the ultimate fashion accessories. You can guess who. Yes, the chausables were stolen by our friendly neighborhood cross-dresser. He was busted when the police spotted him pedaling his bike downtown wearing the richly decorated red chausable that was normally worn on the feast of Pentecost.
Apparently, the guy who was willing to risk censure by entering a family shoe store looking for sexy red pumps was unafraid to slip into a church closet on a Saturday night and check out the rich colors and high quality fabric used on the chausables. I’m willing to bet the appliquéd flame motif on the red one made him swoon with thoughts of being the first one sporting this hot new style on the street.
I never saw him dressed in his "Sunday best," but I liked to visualize him in the chausable, pedaling nonchalantly around town.
Did its generous folds flapping in the wind behind him make him feel powerful, like Superman, the alien do-gooder who wore a red cape? Or maybe he felt powerful like a priest issuing absolution? Like those who harbor the power to love and to forgive? Like those who could have special ordered a pair of red shoes for a customer without asking questions or issuing judgements?
Power for good and evil is always in our grasp.
And red shoes, be they patent leather boots or ruby slippers, have a power all their own, a magical way of transporting us into better versions of ourselves. Maybe the right pair of red shoes would have taken the town "weirdo" to a better place, a light-filled joyful space where he never had to worry about what others thought of him, a place where he could kick up his heels and enjoy his shoes in peace.
January 30, 2007
Copyright 2007 Veronica McCabe Deschambault and V-Grrrl in the Middle. All rights reserved.
Reader Comments (20)
Happy Birthday!
When I worked at the shoe store, I had a pair of red leather Reebok high tops. They were so jazzy.
Do tell.
I've always wanted one of those "robes" to dress in for Halloween...never had the courage to head into a church alone at night tho....
I do believe EVERYONE has amazing stories to tell. They come alive when we write them down and give them space and meaning. I'm often surprised at what rises to the surface once I start writing...
I can totally picture this guy riding his bike in his newly acquired finery.
Great story :o)
:)