Today I wore the wrong shoes.
Or maybe I wore the right shoes but only if I had the sense to wear pants or a pair of tights with this skirt. But bright red patent leather flats with a knee-length skirt and bare legs seemed defiant against the chill. They say "It may be after Labor Day, but the last day of summer isn't until September 20!"
Then the wind whips your skirt up almost to mid-thigh, and chaps your legs and feet. "Nice try, girl, but this is Chicago. You should have worn some tights, or at least put some extra moisturizer." Cute shoes can only do so much when your feet are ashy as hell.
At midday, I walked two blocks east to the Illinois Center to find some lunch in the warren of shops that sits beneath it. The time I spent waiting on corners, waiting for the light to change so I could cross, I spent frowning at my dry feet. As long as I was looking down, I examined the shoes of my fellow pedestrians.
I saw flip-flops with fresh pedicures, and flip-flops with not-so-fresh pedicures. I ogled strappy sandals and sling-back heels. There were Toms, Keds, and Nikes. Crocs. Uggs.
And a pair of impeccable Tory Burch wedges, sported by a young woman with fake tanned legs, which gave the impression of a rather chic Oompa Loompa.
My ashy legs didn’t match my summer face, tanned and freckled (yes, Asian people do freckle) after a summer of too much fun and not enough sunblock. I got a last bit of sun on Sunday when I spent the afternoon drinking cocktails on Lake Michigan, sailing around with a lovely group of men wearing rather brief bathing suits.
The name of the boat was “Shenanigans”.
Of course it was.
I probably won’t be setting foot on “Shenanigans” until next summer. Which is fine, as that gives me more than enough time to dream about which shoes I’ll wear when I do. Shoes, of course, that I will most likely kick off as soon as I get on board.
About the author: Jasmine Davila (@jasmined) is a New Yorker, a writer, a walker, a talker, and your favorite person. She lives in Lakeview.