If Not 4 U and Some Shoes

FOOT NOTE #1: The Kick-Starter
The opposite of ordinary is what flips my pancakes—something I first noticed while on a kindergarten field trip, at an outdoor market, where I encountered a willowy teenage girl with up-done auburn hair, neon-green eye shadow and the most fabulous faux-fur coat I’d ever seen. I remember… she was handpicking fruit (probably cool stuff like kumquats, papayas or lychees), humming an upbeat tune, clearly thrilled to be a Gerber daisy among us dandelions. And as I stood there wishing to be her, my mind flooded with all kinds of questions, like:
• What planet did she shop on? (surely not Earth)
• How did she turn her hair into a cartoon? (crayons?)
• And most important, how did she get past her mother while looking like that?
But being shy and all of five, I could only gawk in silence, all the while committing to memory the awesomeness of such a spectacle.
Since that day, I’ve sat on pins and needles, awaiting my encounter with the world’s spectacular—my most recents including: pretty body ink decorating my pain-tolerant friends, wildflowers while on vacation in an Amazonian rainforest, an eerie sunset following the freakiest-ever thunderstorm, and ear-thrills from my favorite musician’s well-strung words. And after fifteen years of being on the lookout, I can honestly say that there is nothing more invigorating for my senses than having my internal happy-meter register an all-new high.
It was on the day before my eighth birthday that I learned which of the world’s specular peaked my interest most. It came to me while I was at a shopping mall with with my mom and my two sisters (Brigitte, three years older; Talula, three years younger), hunting for an outfit for my next-day birthday bash—and at the same time being barked at for wandering off in search of out-there window displays. So it was to the sounds of my mom’s harping, “Why is the shortest distance from A to B always a squiggly line for you?” that:
• I traipsed through a department store shoe floor, spotted a pair of metallic-gold Mary Janes with not a single strap but three, and felt sparks igniting in about twenty different zones of my body.
• A super-flamboyant salesman retrieved the MJ’s in my size, slid them on my feet, and exclaimed, “Without a doubt, those lovelies have Princess written all over them.”
• I considered whether or not I liked the idea of wearing the shoes of a ‘princess,” decided I did not, and contemplated whose shoes I would enjoy being in.
• I concluded I’d need to walk in many before I’d have an answer.
And so it began: footwear as IT… my thing… my chase. And though I didn’t know why or to what end, I understood for the first time that there’s some stuff in life you just know without question.
A cute sidebar: when that MJ shoe salesman caught sight of my lit-up eyes, he took hold of my hand and coaxed me into do some on-the-spot pirouetting. When, mid-twirl, he asked, “Don’t these shoes just make you wanna go dancing at midnight under a star-studded sky?” I looked at my mom, and responded, “But I’m not allowed to stay up past midnight,” which prompted the guy to smile and state, “Ah, but one day you will be, with shoe choices and dance partners aplenty.”
A comment that, in the moment I didn’t really get.
A comment that lately, I can’t stop thinking about … ever since the end of ninth grade (three months ago) when a boy-classmate of mine started talking to me about shoes. It was a totally unexpected conversation … about whether or not a shoe style exists out there with me written all over it … that not only made me feel light-headed for the first time ever, but also caused me to say something ridiculous and embarrassing (more on that, later). Which, at the time, I assumed was because, with so many amazing shoes out there, I couldn’t imagine myself ever relating to just one. But in looking back, was more likely because I am inevitably over-the-top-rattled by the nearness of that particular questioner—something I won’t get into now or I’ll become so distracted I’ll forget where I’m going with this.
Long story short: after a quick pause to consider whether or not the concept of ideally-Francie was an earthly possibility, I peered deeply into the questioner’s eyes, and thought: holy crap, it is!
Which led me to a summer’s worth of obsession about stuff like: What if my me-shoe is out there and someone buys it before me? What if I find my me-shoe but it costs more than my allowance allows? What would he say if he saw me strutting around in the answer to his question?
The very reason why, effective today (the first day of Tenth Grade), I am a girlie-girl on a mission: I am going to find the shoe style out there that has me written all over it, after which I will suitably name it: The Francie Lanoo.
I’ve even come up with a plan to get the hunt rolling: basically, every time I slip on a pair of noteworthy footwear, I’m going to assess them for any features that reflect me. Once I’ve compiled a well-rounded list of me-qualities, I’ll imaginarily mold the adjectives into something tangible, and then scour the retail world for its earthly equivalent.
Of course, I have no idea how long this shoe-volution will take (maybe until I’m super old, like twenty)… or if it will ever even reach an end because there are millions of shoe styles out there and a girl’s only got so much time. But I plan to have some fun with it, and for a shoe lover like me, that’s gotta be worth my time.
On that note, I do hereby proclaim: Let the Footsy Fun begin…