Why Choosing A Relationship Is JUST Like Finding The Perfect Shoes

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Love, Self

Shopping goes hand in hand with keeping your options open.

I've spent an inordinate amount of time sweating my choices. I'm single, dating, and beating myself up for what really amounts to trying on different pairs of shoes.

When I shop, I try things on for size, style, and pleasure. I try to buy what I can afford and what will make me happy overall. If I'm questioning a purchase, or I don't love the item, I have a rule: I walk away. If I'm still contemplating the item after walking away, I go back and buy it.

I love shoes and I have quite a collection. But as many pairs as I have, there's always one pair that gets me through. One pair that goes with just about everything. One pair that stands the test of time.

The best shoes are the ones that make me feel sexy and beautiful; the ones that give me height without pinching. They may be a tad uncomfortable at times and rub until they're properly broken in. 

If I spend too many hours in them, I may need a break for a time. But overall, they wear in nicely. They're visually pleasing and go with the majority of my wardrobe.

I especially love shoes that have a bit of an edge and stand out in the crowd for the right reasons. That's my overall style.

What this really translates to? I love a confident, outgoing man that lifts me up and can carry his own.

He may rub me wrong from time to time, but our relationship is easy and uncomplicated. He has his own life and respects that I have mine, so I don't have to wear him everyday, all hours of the day.

How is choosing a relationship any different than finding that perfect pair of shoes? I'll tell you.

Every now and again I re-organize my shoes, putting them into categories. As I do this, I end up returning or giving away a pair or two. Sometimes, I find a pair long forgotten. I dust them of and prance around in them for bit, and reminisce about an old flame.

I may run into an old beau and go on a date or two. One never knows; he may come back into fashion. Or, maybe I remember why I stopped wearing him and put him back in the rarely worn part of my closet.

As I go on my hunt for the perfect shoes, I inevitably buy an unsuitable pair simply because they're on sale. They may be a half size too small, but I will suffer for beauty.

They may even be completely out of my norm style-wise, but for the sake of trying something new, I pick them up anyway. I build an outfit around them, wear them as my toes scrunch up — all because they were on sale and there's something about them I just have to try.

Of course, in the end, I discard them, only missing the money that could've been better spent.

We've all done this: dated the guy with a warning sign across his forehead, or the guy we wouldn't normally date; the guy who is pure eye-candy and no substance.

I justify this kind of dating out of fear of passing someone up that may be the one, typically when nothing else seems to be working. Ultimately and hopefully, we learn our lessons before wasting too much time and energy, just as with shoes.

There's also a pair I regularly visit at Bergdorfs that are absolutely fabulous. They make me feel like a million bucks. I can walk in them, dance in them, dress them up, dress them down. They're literal perfection ... except for one problem: the price tag is in place, but the numbers have been rubbed off. All that remains is a barcode.

I desperately look for the salesperson to scan them. I wander around the store not wanting to let go of these beauties, hoping they're within my budget.

Alas, I find a salesperson but the scanner is broken. I leave my number and put them on hold in hoping to clarify the price before making a commitment.

Sadly and happily, this is my current relationship. The love is there, the attraction is there, but I'm not sure where it's going. I'm afraid of being hurt, so I'm proceeding with caution until I know whether or not he's affordable. As I'm dating him, I'm also continuing to shop and keep my options open.

I return home from Bergdorfs and as I survey where those "perfect" shoes will fit, the phone rings. 

The man on the line is like a pair of sexy little pumps in the back of my closet: they're a little closer to the ground than my normal 6 inch heels, visually stimulating, and provide great support; a real solid guy and a great catch.

These pumps cannot make me forget the pair at Bergdorfs, but in the meantime I may need to walk around in these pumps for a bit to see how they fit into my wardrobe.

As a homage to Cinderella, today's mantra: "If the shoe fits, wear it."


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