So, there was the Army of M.E. elbowing our way through the shoes at the Barneys warehouse sale. I scored the most adorable gray ankle boots that had all the right numbers -size and price. They were perfect for this season and I was already fantasizing about the navy blue and other autumn-inspired stocking colors I’d be wearing with the boots when I stood up and saw the reflection in the mirror. Somehow, the perfect boot in the box translated horribly on the body. They didn’t come too high -you know, if they don’t hit low enough on the ankle and are right at the bottom of the calf they truncate the leg to look like a tree stump. That’s never good but that wasn’t the problem, they were just not demure and sweet -they looked like bricks…no, cinder blocks dangling from my ankle. Reluctantly, I had to return them to the shelf and move on. Walking down the street, away from the sale, I thought about the boots and why it didn’t work out between us. It was then that I had a minor style epiphany -I knew that I loved the idea of the boots when I saw them and that they are very in style and on every page of the fashion mags…but that’s not how I’ve ever dressed myself before so why was I subscribing now? I don’t follow trends or anything dictated by fashion mags -this clunky, chunky shoe trend has been persisting for years now and still I have not succumb and the idea that I almost considered it…well, let’s just say not buying those boots made my day. I rarely speak of things within fashion that I despise like this shoe trend and high-wasted mom pants but it felt uplifting to chose to look like a woman instead of like everyone else teetering on those clunky disasters. While this photo is not exactly what I wanted to show, they keep appearing on my search and they’re hideous enough.