rling and suede encased feet in the store’s mirror. I hadn’t meant to try them on. I had in fact entered the store in search of my yearly winter boot: black, leather and with a thin heel, the heel and toe shape differing slightly depending on the season. Perhaps not a practical shoe choice for Maine’s snowy winters, but it had worked just fine for the last three years and I didn’t see any reason to change now. But then, I saw them.
I had smiled condescendingly as I passed the shelf, its trendy tenants standing at perky attention, their various leather, fur and wool trimmings practically screaming “soo this minute!” in a high pitch, giggle-filled voice not unlike that of the teenage girls they were most likely intended for. I kept walking and rounded the corner, heading to the next row, where some quietly chic knee-high, kitten-heeled, black leather boots were lounging in understated elegance. Just as I was about to reach for them as I had so many winters before, my hand suddenly stopped mid-air, and I spun on my stiletto heel, turning back to casually sidle up to the bubble gum dream-lined row of super-trendy shearling boots I had just passed.
I couldn’t help it. Something in me was responding to their lure and as I nonchalantly scanned the various shapes and sizes, my gaze settled, to my horror, on the tallest, most trendy-Lindsey-Lohan-loving pair of them all: knee high, sand colored suede boots complete with Eskimo-esque lacing up the front and tufts of shearling lining the top and sides. No. I turned away, glancing quickly to see if anyone had witnessed my near slip. The coast was clear, with only a woman pushing a stroller in the clearance aisle. I spun around to check the location of the sales people and found them to be preoccupied with chatting and stocking. Phew. I turned back to the boots and took a deep breath. There was just no way that I was going to traipse around Portland in something so very mass marketed trendy. I was a serious fashion lover who, rather than chasing each and every one-hit-wonder, preferred to analyze the season, make informed choices and adopt a few key, unique pieces that were utterly fabulous. I did not however, model my wardrobe after TRL’s line-up. I bit my lip. They were so cute though–and they elicited in me that kind of clammy palm excitement that comes along with finding something you really, really love. This couldn’t be. I mean it just didn’t make sense; me, in shearling boots? I shook my head and resolved to walk away. I almost made it, but I was too weak. I grabbed the last pair of size six and a half, and slipped out of my heels. Looking around one last time, I leaned down and pulled on the boot, over my jeans, ? la Jessica Simpson. I stood up, and stared into the mirror in front of me. They were fabulous. I quickly limped over to the box and lifted out the other, slipping it onto my left foot. I was transfixed. Turning and lifting my feet, I examined each angle of these artic-ready boots. And then I noticed something else: they were warm. My feet, as you may or may not have guessed aren’t exactly the toastiest of tootsies in the winter due to my usual boot choice, but this was different. And there was something else too; what was that sensation? Why, they were actually comfortable! It was like getting a foot massage with each step. The wool lining created a pillow of protection– oh my. That’s it. I was sold, and surprisingly giddy as I carried my unexpected purchase to the counter. A Hillary Duff look alike took my credit card and as she handed me my bag exclaimed “I have these, and I like totally love them. Enjoy!” I smiled back as I took my new boots and knew that I like totally loved them as well.