women's shoes. the final frontier.

i don't understand women's shoes. straps and bows and buttons and chains and buckles and things that you wrap around your ankle. all i need is something to wear with a black fucking dress, and for the life of me, i cannot find a pair of women's shoes that don't strangle my entire foot in a fashion reminiscent of cock and ball bondage.

i've browsed brands including prada, calvin klein, aldo, banana republic, delman, via spiga, betsey johnson, stuart weitzman, chloe, steven, steve madden, nine west, coach, guess, fornarina, and marc jacobs, and i can't figure out if it's that i have mutated feet or that women are actually willing to slide their precious pedicured toes into something that feels like a razor blade filled chamber lined with steel wool. and i really have to point out that the 50 degree angle that manolo blahnik wants to put my foot in is just not natural.

so, after wandering about rainy manhattan in my camouflage cargo pants in the hopes the sales people wouldn't see me (and for the most part, they didn't) in the midst of this urban foot jungle, i've come home with no shoes. i'm wondering if i might be able to get away with these chunky, slightly platformed quasi-heels i've had since my freshman year of college. if not, i suppose i'll have no choice but to beat my metatarsals into submission.