Marie Kondo, high heels and purple keds

Today I did some Marie Kondo-ing (I think that is a verb now).   I tackled our mudroom, which was choking on at least a decade of shoes.   It was clear that many of these shoes were too small (size 5 ballet slippers anyone?), outdated, over worn, or just plain ugly.   As I went through the shoe bins it was pretty easy to decide what sparked joy and what sparked something else, like when I caught a whiff of the inside of an old tap shoe (little girls shouldn't be capable of creating such odor).

Then I came upon what is probably my only pair of high heel shoes at this point in my life.  They are very elegant, black patent leather with a 2, maybe 3 inch heel.   Since I am 5'9" in height, these shoes bring me up to the Amazonian height of six feet.

The thing is, these shoes spark minimal joy in my heart.   I am no Marie Kondo expert but I am fairly certain she would have me toss them.   I have never really enjoyed high heels.  After all, the only thing worse than being 5'9" in high school (and being 3 inches taller than every boy) was being 6' in heels (and being 6 inches taller than every boy).   I also have very wide feet and have yet to find a comfortable pair of heels that don't have me dreaming of kicking them off within a half hour of wearing them.   I have danced in my bare feet at many a wedding.   And, yes, I'd rather have my foot stepped on by men in thick-soled loafers than endure the pain of high heels.

In contrast to the high heels, I find buried in a bin my pair of purple keds.   Oh!  These bring me so much joy!  Alas, I don't have much use for my purple canvas keds in New England in February.  That being said, they are carefully placed back in the bin, to wait patiently for the warmer weather.   That day cannot come soon enough.

I look back at the high heels.  They are taunting me.

"You need us for weddings!" they seem to shout.
"You need us for graduations, cocktail parties, and fancy dinners out"

I peer into the bin at my purple keds,
"Sorry, we're no good at weddings" they seem to say, "you're on your own."

Thanks a lot purple keds.

I think of my daughters' generation.   They regularly shout "Screw the patriarchy" and they don't wear any shoe or any outfit that doesn't fit their own personal style and I so admire that.     And, to a certain degree, I embrace that mindset.   I wear what I am comfortable in and I try not to get caught up in societal "shoulds", whatever they may be.   I am who I am.

But, these pumps have me stumped.

An image of my five year old self keeps running through my head.   I am wearing a floral mini-dress, the style that was so popular in the 70s, the kind of dress that was barely long enough to cover your underpants    My legs are long and tan (because no one believed in sunscreen), and my knees are all scraped up from running and chasing my brother and his friends.   No mini-dress was going to stop me from keeping up with the neighborhood boys.   And, just to make sure I kept up I.always wore a pair of red keds.   Every. Single. Day.   With a dress.   Always.   It didn't faze me in the least bit, or anyone else for that matter.   I was five.  It was the 70s.  Everything was groovy.

Until it wasn't.

As I grew up I didn't wear dresses anymore because someone probably told me that they could see my underwear when I climbed a tree.   And, I started to care.   And, when I did wear a dress, someone probably told me that I should wear proper shoes with a dress, like flats or heels.  So, I conformed.   I conformed for years.

Eventually, as my foot grew, I stopped replacing my keds.   I only wore sneakers for sports.
That's just how it was.

But now things are changing.   Girls are wearing whatever shoes they want to, and for that matter so do boys.   And, just last year I bought myself that pair of purple keds (red is not longer my happy color) and it sparked sooooo much joy in my heart.

But, what do I do with the damn heels?  Why am I hesitating?

I text a few friends who unanimously suggest that I toss them.
"there is absolutely no where that you need to wear heels anymore" one wise friend said.

My husband is sitting in the other room and even though he has never had to squish his feet into a pair of heels I decide to ask his opinion, "What should I do with these heels?  They spark no joy in me."

Now mind you, my husband was the one who encouraged me to Marie Kondo my life in the first place.   He's all about getting rid of the clutter in our lives.

"I have a pair of tuxedo shoes in the bedroom closet.  I will only ever wear them if I wear a tuxedo, which is rare, but I keep them for such events.   You should keep the heels."   Hmmm.   Is he part of the patriarchal conspiracy to keep women in uncomfortable footwear?????  

I think not.

I realize in that moment that the heels don't spark any joy in me, but maybe they spark some joy in him.   On this cold February day, he is imagining another day, or perhaps a warm evening, where we are both in fine clothes and he is in his tuxedo shoes and I am in my high heels, perhaps we are dancing under a lit tent at a wedding and that lovely image sparks joy in his heart, okay, maybe in mine too.

He is smiling and suddenly I know that I can't bear to throw the shoes away.  Not yet anyway.

I think maybe this is where Marie Kondo gets it wrong.   Sometimes an item doesn't spark joy in our own heart, but maybe somebody elses, and THAT joy sparks our joy, so that that item is worth holding onto.  I think.   At least for now.

So, the shoes are saved, for now.

But, I make sure that when I put them back into the shoe bin, they are tucked safely under my absolute joy-sparking purple keds.
And, as I push the shoe bin back under the boot bench I whisper to my beloved keds, "Oh.  I'll find a floral mini-dress and we WILL rock the next wedding we go to,  heels, consider yourself on notice."

Instead of purging things that don't bring joy, let's Marie Kondo to the next level and go get what brings us joy!