“Why are you so obsessed with ugly shoes?” My sister asked me this one time;
“Are they ugly?” I immediately thought.
The question, however I struggled to give her a direct answer so instead I laughed it off and said, “it’s my personality”.
I suppose this question was always going to come, one way or another considering my recent shoe purchases. Perhaps I have an acquired taste. When I sit with myself and confront the question, I know it is more than taste or even personality for that matter. This means it’s important enough for me to need to unpack, as at the point of the question, the true answer felt slightly intangible. I then realised, this isn’t about shoes; it is about how we negotiate being different while growing into adulthood.
“Nolwandle has a rebellious spirit, and we need to pray about it”, my mother has always said. I have always chuckled under my breath when she said such. To pray about my rebellion is to infer there is something wrong with it. As a child, my mother would lay our clothes on the bed once we have showered, and during the autumn of the winters, she would lay out a lot of polo necks. To which I would refuse to wear. My younger sister had an equal amount of irritation when it came to polo necks.
When I said, “mom, I don’t want to wear a polo neck”, this is one of the instances I would be labelled a rebel. Now, I am not saying my mother is delusional, of course I had my rebellions moments, as every other child.
But to have agency over my body and what I choose to wear is not rebellion. It is ownership. At the time, I found polo necks ugly and frankly unbearable because the fabric would make the neck itch. What kind of child endures discomfort for the sake of aesthetics? Which my mother cared about, she was not just our mother but a stylist too, she made sure we looked good, whether that be civvies (civilian clothing) and or how we dressed at church. This really matters with her, if your dress was creased or she was not pleased with the styling in any way. Do expect her to tell you to change or you won’t be joining her in the car.
Over the years, I have had to learn to take agency over my style and be proud of it whether or not you will let me in your car.
As I write this, I smirk at the reminder that at my previous place of employment, I had a “colleague” that refused to have me in her car. I assume the aim was to exclude me and not have me a part of the team. I did the project anyway, our manager had to organise for me to be transported using the company car instead.
I am capable of standing alone, I accept the truth that some people will want to exclude or silence me. I can not afford to be a person that always wants others to strip me off my authentic garments, for an exchange of a seat in a vehicle.
I would much rather walk in my so-called “ugly shoes”, than exchange my freedom of expression and sovereignty to be a passenger in a stranger’s rustic vehicle. I know walking on this road will take longer, but my peace won’t be sacrificed. And when I arrive, I will arrive as an extended and good representation of my highest potential, not a shell of what I could have been, had I sacrificed parts of my identity.
Now if you were to look at my recent choices in footwear, you might just agree with her. You may also be someone who doesn’t want me in their car or next to them as a result of how I styled myself that day. The shoes I wear tend to make people do a double take, maybe even question my character for a moment.
And honestly? I’m incredibly proud of my most recent pair: Hot Pink Puma Mostros.
(this image does not belong to me, a mere depiction of my shoes, as mine are hot pink, not baby pink )...
They are a slick design that feels timeless, their sturdy when the laces are attached properly and they remind me of football. If football boots are masculine, Puma Mostros are most definitely femme.
Then I have a pair of sneakers from Zara, let’s call them “wanna be Balenziaga”. Without a doubt these will make you stop stare, and if you care enough, you will find yourself whispering, “did you see what Cheeky wore?”.
(this image does not belong to me, it is a mere depiction of my shoes) ...
If you are my mother, you will gasp and almost faint at the sight of them. As she did one evening at my sister’s graduation dinner.
For the dinner I wore a tight maroon dress with frills that fall diagonally from my hips to my knees. The evening was beginning to be a bit chilly so I also had a denim jacket on, as the dress revealed my shoulders. I remember for my hair, I had it braided in blonde passion twists that were shoulder length. This look was entirely broken down with the pairing of my “wanna be Balenziaga” and my mother was absolutely gobsmacked. She had to control herself as the only difference now was that I am no longer a child and of course she could not tell me to change at home, which was about forty kilometres away . It was slightly awkward as now everyone was looking at my shoes and the atmosphere went silent. To be honest I had no care for what they thought about those shoes; and my sister and I laughed off my mothers one minute panic moment. If I remember correctly her exact words were, “how could you wear those shoes?”. There was a brief moment where she questioned my life choices when she said that.
This moment taught me something. I can be unique, yes but as I grow and transition into real adulthood, I should be more cognizant about the spaces in which I choose to express my uniqueness. Not because I’m afraid of being myself or standing out. But because fashion is a tool. It can be a strong signifier of who someone is or who someone is pretending to be in that given moment.
What we wear speaks before we do. And maybe that’s what changes as we grow older: we begin to think more carefully about what we put on our bodies, what it communicates, and how we want to be read by the world. We are constantly negotiating our identity to blend in or be accepted by the crowd.
Watch what happens when I consciously choose to not do myself up, and package my face with makeup and conceal my hair under a wig. People change depending on how I package myself. That is when I know I am surrounded by dwindling characters and not humans who stand firm in who they are.
In those moments, they are perhaps affirming something deeper. That I am not ordinary, I do not want to blend in if the status quo makes no sense at all. Even in the moments I find myself being socially compliant or diluting my personhood, I always find that something in me resists it. Perhaps that’s what my shoe collection is really for. A reminder that I am unique and I shall walk the walk with pride.
On a deeper level, I do not believe that I am doing anything out of the grain and perhaps I am responding to the trend or resurgence of ugly shoes, which I believe has silently catapulted into mainstream fashion when “Crocs” had their big comeback moment.
I have a pair of those too, are you shocked?: Pink Crocs
(this image does not belong to me, it is a mere depiction of my shoes.)
The shoes are not rebellion - they are reassurance of my identity.
Mu ugly shoes were never about being different. They were about reminding myself that I am.
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The point that “ugly” shoes can be a form of self-possession, rather than rebellion for its own sake, really lands. Birkenstock’s staying power sits in that same space between comfort and identity. Further reading from The European Desk: https://europeandesk.substack.com/p/the-price-of-being-ordinary