So declared an effervescent Austrian tour leader in somewhat ambitious English, as my friend and I were guided up the not-exactly-low-key staircase of the Vienna State Opera. And that phrase is exactly what came to mind when I first clapped eyes on these little beauties. A quirky choice for the fashion-forward, spectacularly-minted bride, perhaps?
In my head, I had always sort of imagined I would wear Christian Louboutins on my wedding day. Well, when I was five I was probably picturing something with a bit more pink glitter*. And I know that the sight of a bride flashing those intoxicating red soles as she struts down the catwalk aisle is probably turning into a bit of a cliché. But I always figured that your wedding was for splurging, blowing the budget on extravagant once-in-a-lifetime purchases, indulging your wildest whims and fantasies and generally behaving like a total nutjob.
In real life, my wedding shoes were from Aldo. I even signed up to their godawful newsletter to get a 10% discount. Don't get me wrong; I loved the shoes, they were beautiful, and comfortable-ish, and sparkly (my five-year-old self would have LOVED them). And of course, on the day in question, there are many more important things to think about. Like new husbands, and sandy beaches, and ice cream. Naturally.
Part of me feels exceedingly sane and practical and maybe a little bit smug for not blowing on shoes the same amount of money as we spent on, say, all of our stationery + wedding rings + all my other accessories put together. But another part of me still feels an occasional little pang that I didn't get to rock these babies down that aisle.
And I think it's partly because, if I'm honest, one of the reasons I chose my profession is because it was meant to be a well-paid profession. And the sad thing is, it actually is! Compared to the national average wage, I'm f*cking rolling in it! But I still don't have the money to even contemplate blowing £450 on a pair of shoes, wedding or no wedding.
Who are all these brides, these young women, in their twenties like me, who can buy these things? I'm fascinated by them. Did they snap their Louboutins up without a second thought, or were they reluctantly seduced by those elegant lines, that winking gold signature, into maxing out the credit card?
I can't help feeling that there is a serious disconnect going on here, between what we feel we have somehow been promised ("You can have it all!") and what is realistically achievable, especially in these times of economic woe (see, I read the news. It's not all shoes you know. Well, not exclusively). Friends of mine who earn the same as me, or more, are fed up with putting in endless hours at work and getting what they perceive to be very little back.
But I'm starting to think it's not about working harder and earning more, so you can finally buy those covetable courts with the sexy scarlet sole. It's about realising that what you own is not who you are; it's just what you own. Happiness does not lie in a pair of shoes, no matter how lovely.
But, I still wish I owned a pair. I can't help it. And that, my friend, is the problem.
P.S. I know I am meant to be trying to cut down on the wedding chat, but considering it's part of why I started blogging in the first place, I might keep going for a little while longer, if that's ok with you? Thanks.
*Not that M. Louboutin is against pink glitter, I hasten to add.
Top image: Alaïa shoe boots, a mere £1,320, Net-a-Porter. All the rest: Lillian and Leonard
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