When a pair of shoes tells me a story, it makes it more difficult for me not to fall in love with them. It makes it much more difficult for me not to want them in my closet, so we can live out those stories together.
The Borda heel instantly transplants me back to my years living in New Orleans. It makes me want to stay out until 7 a.m. dancing in the French Quarter’s dirtiest and dankest local bars, followed by early mornings eating waffles and thick coffee. In my head, I pair them with a slim pair of cigarette pants and my favorite band shirt and the make-up on my face is simply a remnant.
The biggest question that comes to mind is whether I’d get them in red, or in black.