Yesterday, my American Express card in one hand, my computer mouse in the other, I engaged in a knock-down, drag-out shoe battle.
Correction: I won a knock-down, drag-out shoe battle.
And no, “battle” is not too strong of a word, but I’ll get to that in a moment.
I’ve been crushing on the spiked heels trend for quite some time now. I adore the contrast of a feminine peep-toe silhouette covered with a spray of villanous-looking spikes. Truly, any piece of fashion that doubles as a weapon capable of stabbing is a winner. Am I right?
When I received an email from HauteLook informing me that Sam Edelman’s line of shoes were the daily special, I was intrigued.Hautelook
Each time I stop in at Nordstrom, I pay a visit to my beloved Sam Edelman Lorissa Pumps. They are expensive, impractical, and blatantly ridiculous. They look like they are trying way too hard. And they most certainly won’t ”fit in” in rural Minnesota, despite their best efforts.
Essentially, they are the footwear version of yours truly.
Despite the fact that these shoes are quite possibly my soul mate, there are several reasons I’ve decided against purchasing them. First — they run a cool two hundred bucks. Second — at five inches high they pretty much guarantee another sprained cankle. And third — I’m willing to bet my new diamond earrings that on a good day, they’re about as comfortable as a Chinese torture device.
But perhaps most importantly, I’m fully aware of the fact that I live in a small Midwestern town.
And work from home.
And that no matter how desperately I wish I was the type of person who was invited to galas, fashion shows and red carpet events, my nights on the town usually involve a trip to the Pizza Ranch buffet, and if I’m lucky, a night-cap at Applebees.
All this is to say, I need these shoes about as much as Jolie needs braces.
Although her teeth are a tad bit crooked. (And let’s not deny the obvious fact that she has a socially debilitating overbite.)
I quickly closed my email and opened up Facebook. Surely, perusing through a couple of Instagrams and status updates would be distracting enough to make me forget all about the shoes.Hautelook Facebook page
They were literally the third thing in my news feed, you guys.
When the fashion goddesses give you a sign, you don’t ignore them.
While I was delighted to see that the shoes were on sale for 50% off, I just couldn’t do it. My inner rationale (yes, it does exist) had a few too many objections. I tried to stick to my pathetic new mantra that if it’s not something I can wear to Wal-Mart, I probably shouldn’t buy it.
Eventually I noticed that I couldn’t even order the shoes if I wanted to — the style I liked was on hold in my size.
And just like that, I had to have them. Funny how that works.
HauteLook allows patrons to place an item in their cart and “reserve” that item for a maximum of fifteen minutes. After their time runs out, the item is available for someone else to purchase. In regards to the size chart below, an “x” means that size is sold out, while a single line means it is simply in someone else’s cart.
I knew if I timed it just right, there was still a small chance that I might be able to crush all my fellow shoppers, snagging a pair of seven-and-a-halfs for myself.
This? This is precisely why competitive jackholes (AKA: Katrina Taylor) should never be allowed to shop online. Unfortunately, the only one home to keep me in check was Jolie, who was completely preoccupied with a stray crouton that was stuck under the fridge.
I sat up straight, took a deep breath, and did what any other shopaholic in my position would do.
I started refreshing the page.
Twenty minutes later, my size was available. My right hand, shaking with nerves and adrenaline, selected the box marked “7.5″ and quickly added it to my shopping cart.
The scream I unleashed when informed the shoes — my shoes — had already been added to another cart was enough to send Jolie scampering away from her beloved crouton, and into a pile of laundry for cover. Suddenly, a pair of shoes that I wasn’t even considering thirty minutes prior became the central focus of my life. If I couldn’t have them, no one could have them. Those shoes were mine. IT WAS DESTINY.
(In all actuality, it was a beyond brilliant marketing/social media scheme…but it sure felt like destiny.)
I spent another twenty minutes frantically refreshing the page while chugging three mugs of coffee and sweating profusely. I must have reloaded my browser 500 times.
(I also happened to be wearing a bathing suit. While totally irrelevant to the plot, I think this small detail helps convey just how pitiful the entire scene was.)
Just when the cramp in my hand became almost unbearable, my size opened up. The rest is all a blur of credit cards and victory dances. Without even realizing it, I had dropped $99 on a pair of shoes that I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever be able to wear.
But in my moment of shopping victory, none of that mattered.
I had won.
I think this image encompasses everything that is wrong with me as a human being.
I am materialistic, competitive, ridiculous, and have questionable taste in footwear.
I also choose to randomly wear bathing suits around the house and am careless with my croutons.
But if it ever comes down to it, I can defend myself with an incredibly dangerous pair of peep toe pumps. I think that has to count for something—right?