Shoes of consumerism uncomfortable to wear DAWN hENWOOD

AND you shall know them by Woman's Shoes. Although I dont know muchabout fashion or "dressing for success," I do know thatwell-polished, quality footwear is deemed essential to aprofessional image. Thats why we use the expression "well-heeled"to describe someone who is prosperous. And thats why militarypersonnel are famous for shining their shoes. You might say thatour culture overall has a kind of shoe fetish. This thought struck me last month, as I was walking around SanFrancisco in my sturdy sneakers. My hotel was located in the citysupscale shopping district, so I decided to take a stroll to explorethe sights and sounds of highbrow American consumerism. Everywhere I turned, I seemed to meet windows full of shoes. In onestore I passed, they were stacked three floors high. When I enteredthe downtown mall, they seemed to greet me at every turn, on everylevel. I began to feel rather self-conscious about theunfashionable Adidas I bought for half price last year. Inside the mall, I felt Id stepped onto a carnival ride. The shopsshot out from the centre of the building like spokes on a Ferriswheel. A set of spiralling escalators kept a steady stream ofshoppers moving from floor to floor. The scene reminded me of a toymy son had when he was small: a set of miniature penguins marchingendlessly up, down and around a plastic iceberg. His toddler brainwould become mesmerized by the hum of the battery motion and theclick-click-click of tiny penguin feet. As I allowed myself to be whisked up the elevators, I experiencedone of those odd moments when life seems suddenly surreal. Themallscape spreading out beneath and above me morphed into aSalvador Dali landscape. Beneath the glow of the fluorescentlighting, bodies and bling blurred together. The headlessmannequins in Victorias Secret looked grotesque; a display ofchocolate-coloured pearls (apparently the latest rage) appearedrepulsive. Gawking over the side of the escalator rail, I spottedan overweight woman in a baggy T-shirt seated at a kiosk on thelower level. She was trying on a fake ponytail, twisting andturning to view it in a mirror. The shoes added to my sense of dislocation. As I rode to the top ofthe mall, footwear seemed to swirl around me. I passed by storeswith childrens shoes, athletic shoes and, of course, racks andracks of womens shoes in every imaginable toe-twisting,arch-wrenching variation. When I finally stepped off the escalatorto ramble into one of the huge department stores, I entered,coincidentally, via the shoe department. I was starting to feel asif I were in the middle of a Twilight Zone episode, trapped, bysome bizarre sequence of events, in the Toronto Bata Shoe Museum. Ibraced myself for the beginning of the eerie soundtrack. For such a limitedrange of human activity, mules with three-inch heels do just fine. Give me a pair of lace-up oxfords over such useless toe-trash anytime. In fact, Id even prefer rubber boots or snowshoes. Goldenslippers may be fine for the gilded streets of San Francisco, butthey dont suit the more diverse paths I travel. These feet aremade for a lifetime of walking, thank you, and the shoes ofconsumer culture are just too flimsy to stand up to the journey.