Pair #5- Birds of Paradise

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being reliable. Nothing at all, especially when you are cute as these little guys.

They are woven leather cork wedgies, and on the sole there, you can see they say "Made in Brazil," which gives them a little tropical flavor. I got them at a vintage store, I can't remember which or when. What I do know is that they are always ready for a party, and they make a satisfying clack on the pavement.

Despite their bright plumage, they are versatile. If I am wearing a new dress, and nothing else seems to go, these inevitably will. (Even if they are not the most obvious choice.) They are the Paul O'Neill of shoes; always gonna hit it out of the park in a crunch. They are usually the last pair of shoes I reach for, after the ones I would like to wear in my dreams, and the other pair that are newer, and don't quite work. One memory of their usefullness stands out in particular.

It was midsummer, and oppresively hot. I had a birthday dinner early in the evening, and another party later on. I was wearing a swishy summer dress, these shoes, and going through a period of riding my bicycle everywhere. As the end of dinner approached, so did a thunderstorm. By the time the check was paid, the deluge was happening. Sheets of water poured down, illuminated by occasional flashes of hot lightening. Everyone was vainly tying to catch a cab. I didn't have far to go- just from the East Village to the Lower East Side. I took a deep breath, and ran to my bike.

Soon I was flying down Avenue B. "Don't get wet." A guy called out to me. I shouted back "It's too late!" And it was. I was drenched but it was also strangely liberating. And shoes stayed put. No sliding, or shrinking. I spent the rest of the night dancing.