I was considering entitling this post, 'Shoes for everyone!' but a) why quote from a film I hated (Sex & The City 2) and b) why give Carrie Bradshaw any more credit for getting us excited about Jimmy Choos? No, when I think of shoes, I think of Liam Kyle Sullivan's stroppy teenage alter-ego Kelly and her 'these shoes rule, these shoes suck... those shoes are mine, beeetch'. If you've never seen that video, I insist you click here.
Ahead of the launch of Shoe Galleries in Selfridges next month, they're running a competition to win a year's supply of shoes. All you have to do is tell your 'shoe story' on the website, by clicking here. Just write a few sentences and submit a picture if possible, but if not, they have illustrated placeholders.
The shoe galleries have been long in the making, after being envisaged by architect Jamie Fobert to house 4,000 different pairs of shoes and over 150 different brands. It's going to be the biggest shoe department in the world and everyone from Christian Dior to that wretched little Mr Ugg has been invited.
'Imagine you are in a gallery. From the entrance you see a succession of doorways and at the end a huge window flooding the space with daylight,' says Selfridges' Director of Accessories Sebastian Manes. 'Your journey begins at the front, with shoes from the best of the high street. Slowly you begin to travel through different galleries until you reach the end – the couture designer gallery, flanked by Chanel and Louboutin, and a vision of Eden – the new suspended garden at Selfridges. Shoe heaven.'
Speaking of which, my first pair of shoes (ie, ones I had a say in) felt a lot like heaven. Magic Steps by Clarks, with the little silver key... and the advert where the girl puts them on and is then transported into a forest and has to climb a wall and defeat the big bad witch... relying on the power of her magic shoes. I always was a sucker for fashion advertising...
I'm still undecided on my shoe story but my first pair did feel very special. And then there's the vintage leather cream (almost) knee high boots which sound pretty horrendous written down, but I loved them, especially with a sixties mini and thick black tights. Unfortunately they died on the way to an unmentionable night club in Clapham. I was stepping out of a taxi when the heel completely snapped in half, never to be reincarnated again. In hindsight, I think they were desperately telling me that they wouldn't be seen dead in there (which they weren't, as I went home to change). They deserved more respect. And I definitely learnt my lesson.