I love shoes. More than Carrie Bradshaw. More than Imelda Marcos. More than is within reason. Not that I have even close to the 2,700 pairs that Imelda had carefully tucked away in her palace, my collection is much smaller, numbering less than two percent of hers. It’s not the quantity. It’s the look, the shape, the color, and the adornments. It’s how they make me feel, no matter what I’m wearing or what crisis I’m facing, when I slip them on and walk down the street, sit in a restaurant, or even, huddle over my computer as I do all day.
