My Liverpudlian roots put me firmly in the “bare legs until winter” camp. And what qualifies as winter? The first flurry of snow. The type that sticks. Not the stuff that melted away a couple of weeks ago. But with all this talk of a cold winter and a few early mornings spent scraping ice off the windscreen I’ve turned my attention to the serious subject of boots.
My first port of call was my own wardrobe which has been known to contain all sorts of hidden treasures. It didn’t disappoint.
First up are knee length boots from – left to right – Chloe, Zara and Jimmy Choo. The ones from Chloe and the Jimmy Choos are 10 years old, amazing quality and a bargain in the Harvey Nicks sale – honest!
Next up ankle boots – LK Bennett, Prada (another sale purchase) and Hobbs
The sharp eyed amongst you will already have noticed what these boots have in common – yes you’ve got it – sky high heels. And last year it finally dawned on me that wet pavements, high heels and, I hate to say it, being fifty something, had become a somewhat geisha making combination.
My response was an unusually sensible one …
Please note the almost completely flat and sturdy nature of the black ones. Slight problem. You may well do ankle boots with skirts. I can’t – it’s a short legs thing. And they only look right with a particular pair of jeans that aren’t very comfortable. Resulting in an almost pristine pair of boots in their original box, gathering dust. The red ones have definitely seen more wear with jeans and cropped trousers but the issue with skirts remains.
So, having thoroughly shopped my wardrobe I’m left with only one option. To go shopping. Real shopping – not online browsing. A two hour, intensive, boot trying on fest in Fenwicks. No brand was left untried or untested but, of course, it was the most expensive one that came up trumps.
No other suede was as soft, no other fit and heel height quite made the grade. Enough of the post rationalisation and justification Sue – you’re convincing no one!
Perfection. Enough said.