Look, this is a chapter about boots.
But I need to say from the off, it’s not actually about footwear.
Boots are not just something you put on your feet. When you shop for them, they’re not a ‘these will do, add to basket’ and when they’re part of your outfit, they’re not a small addition, an afterthought.
They are the whole look. The reason you’re out. The reason he looked at you funny. The reason you feel like a rockstar, walking backstage at the O2.
I know what you’re thinking – ‘She’s gone and lost it now. Maybe it’s the fumes from the fake tan.’ Sure, that’s completely possible. But let me expand.
Boots are, above all, about attitude. They are not simply objects that stop your feet getting dirty. Of course there’s your hair and your heavy armload of bangles that turn your wrists green (correct, totally worth it) and your big sack of a bag (the same one you’ve had since the 90s, something totally cool about that) but your real calling card, your actual, well, assertiveness comes from your feet.
If you can walk into a bar with a look that says ‘I can use ornery in a sentence but I also just might have a trick pelvis’ then that’s coming from your boots. They are the reason you can turn up slightly late for a lecture at university and give the impression you’ve just done it with your boyfriend behind the bins, just got shortlisted for a literary prize, just listened to the latest Rolling Stones track because you’re an old friend of Keith’s. These things won’t be true but you might want it to seem that they are. And this will not be achieved through your choice of pencil case, or because you’re wearing a lip stain or a nose stud. This, my friends, is radiating from your feet.
You are walking to meet a date at the cinema for the first time. You want to waltz up to the kiosk (don’t actually waltz, unless of course you’re seeing La La Land) with all the mustiness of Debbie Harry or Nick Cave. That’s not just in your fingerless gloves (although I do applaud) and it’s not in your hoop earrings. Apart from your sparkly eyes, or slight air of disdain, the thing that will stay with him is your all-round vibe and that is emanating from below your knees.
I knew boots were special when I walked past Shelley’s when I was fourteen and saw some pointy, aggressive, spiky ones in the window. ‘Can we go in Dad, please can we go in?’ I begged.
‘Don’t be mad baby, it’s getting late and we still need to get peppercorns’ (people were obsessed with these in 1986).
They were ankle-high with a livid, thin heel. Even then, staring though the window (in my flat, black, round-toed shoes from Dolcis – please) I knew they could change my life. ‘There you are my babies,’ I thought to myself. ‘You’re going to make me feel wholly different.’ They were so grown up, so rebellious, so unbelievably cool. I had never seen such a thing. They were a passport to a different world.
Here’s the thing, you do not need to buy new jeans unless they become literally unwearable – I wear the same ones I bought fifteen years ago (yes, I can’t do up the button); t-shirts and sweaters generally look better if they’re old, beaten, torn and slightly mothy. Coats keep the cold out and, although they have to be fantastic (nothing collarless please), you’ll take it off when you get to the party/pub/dinner. You can say absolutely all you need to say with a pair of boots. They instil a power, a fuck-off attitude, a certain defiance. If you pick right (I have gone into some detail on here) then they alone will give you all the confidence you need.
Have you seen Desperately Seeking Susan? Well, she trades in her magical and lucky leather jacket for a pair of sparkly stiletto bunched-up boots. Exactly that. That’s what we’re after, that’s what every woman needs.
I had a bad row with my mum over a pair of boots. I was sixteen. We were away on holiday in Spain and it was unbelievably hot. It was boiling, seriously sweltering, and we were going down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. My brother is eight years younger than me so this was unusual; because he was little we’d normally just get chips in our room and he’d be put to bed early and I’d read (often in the bathroom so as not to wake him up) and then I’d turn out the lights when I was tired. But this night was different, it was fancy, an occasion, something to remember. We’d talked about it all day; he’d had a nap in preparation for staying up late and I was excited about trying something called calamari that everyone was talking about.
It was a fisherman’s catch buffet night and I was a little bit in love with a boy who was there with his family. I’d stared at him solidly for six days straight at the pool. I’d laughed too loudly at breakfast so he looked round. We once bumped heads in the entrance hall when I was walking in and he was walking out (in my mind we were getting married) so I laid out my outfit extremely carefully. Over the miniature thimble of grapefruit or tomato juice we were going to lock eyes and that would be it, my first full-on boyfriend (I was, uh, a slow developer).
Did I mention it was hot? Like 100 degrees. I wanted to wear my black sundress and my (wait for it) knee-high, fake suede, platform, studded boots. They were from C&A and they were pure magic. It was my plan, it was part of the story. He’d see me in them, he’d realise that I was fashionable, nonchalant, on trend and practically an adult. I backcombed my hair, I put on some lip-liner (yes, it was chocolate brown, boof) and I was ready to go.
But my mum, who was always pretty casual on clothes and what I wanted to wear (she never needed us to look ‘just so’, she didn’t have the time), said no. She explained it was scorching; I’d look nuts and I should wear flip flops like everyone else. I tried to plead, I begged, I said it was important but she just refused. You’re not going downstairs, in this heat, in those clunky, sweaty boots. Don’t be ridiculous.
I nodded sulkily and we went down for a prawn surprise and other glamorous things but I couldn’t shake it off. I didn’t speak and grew more and more upset. I just sat silently looking down at my hands. Normally I was bouncy, usually I’d make everything nice and generally I always behaved.
After twenty minutes hot steam began to pour from my mother’s ears. ‘What is it? Why are you ruining supper? Why aren’t you talking?’
‘I wanted to wear my boots,’ I said quietly.
‘Fine, go get them and then please come down here with a smile.’
I went to my room and changed my shoes. Sure, I looked weird. Yes, I was melting and truthfully the faux suede never really recovered. But did I have a great night? Absolutely. We ate fresh fish, I stared at the boy I liked, my family ended up playing Uno while eating lemon ice cream that was served in actual lemons and I went to bed happy. Was it about the boots? Was it about the boy? Not really. It was about something much more important – it was about confidence. Even then, as a spotty, heavy fringed, patchy tanned, glasses-wearing teenager, I knew that in those boots I had swagger.
And swagger is what every girl and woman deserves. Everything else is hard enough. We’re on the hamster wheel of life. Yes, she’s got her PE kit, yup, bridge is on for 8pm and what’s that? You’ve both given up meat, dairy and anything raw? No problem, I’ll rustle up some, um, warm nuts. Our boss wants another meeting about when to have another meeting and our parents have said they’d like us to go away with them on a camper van holiday for the bank holiday. The traffic is gridlocked, the papers are full of bad news, the bank has decided that our overdraft has gone on for too long and the kids have seen a mouse in the kitchen. We rush and we negotiate and we hustle to keep everything on track – which is all made just a bit easier if we are doing it whilst wearing a pair of truly great boots.
Perhaps you already own these boots and you have been nodding along in agreement. If you have yet to meet your most empowering, enabling footwear, please use this list to help you identify the boots that are right for you.
THE LEGAL SECRETARY
This is a heavy, blocked heel option with a no-nonsense attitude. Wear with black crepe trousers for work and with an oversized polo neck and jeans at the weekend. An aside: if boots can be worn every single day then that’s better. Don’t save boots ‘for best’ – there is no best.
THE GROUPIE
You want to feel like you might be going back to the drummer’s place for a heavy goblet of vodka and some filth? Where the music will be on really loud and people are getting up to mischief on the pool table? No, of course we’re not actually going to do that (it sounds like a lot of effort and way too messy), but these high-heeled ankle sex boots will make you feel like the option is available.
THE NEW MUM
You can’t shift the baby weight. You’re boring yourself rigid about why she likes broccoli but not carrots and the school run is genuinely killing you – I’ve just dropped her off, how can I be going back again so soon? You haven’t been on a night out in months and while you’re having sex with your husband you’re doing the weekly shop in your head. These are not ballet flats (never fine, unless you’re actually doing ballet) and they’re not slippers (guys …). They are still great boots but they do not involve laces (designers, if we had time to do our laces as well as everyone else’s we’d let you know), you do not have to sit down to put them on and they can be thrown by the front door. Excellent with jeans and a massive shirt (that you might have slept in).
THE INTELLECTUAL
These are akin to a classic brogue but slightly more interesting than a Chelsea boot. They’re best in tobacco or cinnamon (real boot colours) and look much better when worn for years. Buy and then give them to a friend’s dog to gnaw at. Leave them out in the garden so they get a bit soiled and wear them hard. Day in, day out. Wear them if you’re walking in some fields (it might actually be worth a visit to the countryside) and, when they’re broken in, then they will come to the fore. Brilliant when paired with a battered satchel and overly long scarf.
STYLES TO BE AVOIDED
- The fringed moccasin boot (only OK on Kate Moss and Pocahontas, absolutely not fine for anyone else)
- The almond toe (too indecisive: either a square or a point, what is this?)
- The over-the-knee (cheap, even though unbelievably expensive)
- The boot with a logo (we get it, you’ve got money. Pipe down)
- The kitten heel (if you want your calves to look like massive hams then go ahead but otherwise it’s a solid no)
- The sock boot (make it stop)
- The cowboy (fine if you’re in a rodeo and even then …)
- The Ugg (look, I know they’re comfy but so are onesies and adult nappies)