Dear Jelly Shoes,
I feel that I owe you an apology. I remember the first time I saw your re-emergence into my everyday life, when some fierce creature of a woman climbed onto the Northern Line (Camden Town, obviously) with you casually adorning her feet in May (maybe), in a bold statement that seemed to say, “Screw you, London weather, summer starts NOW.”
I had heard rumblings of your return previously, of course, but this was the first time I’d seen a normal person in the street partaking in this return to childhood glitter fixations. I was excited. This was something I could get behind. This was a tour of whimsy that had appeal coming out of the wazoo. But it didn’t happen.
Back when I was a child my jelly shoe of choice was more of a ballet slipper type shoe, rather than a sandal, and it came in pink glitter. Did I wear them often? Not as often as I wished. The plastic was rigid, rubbed my feet the wrong way and it didn’t have the greatest solutions in place when it came to breathability. Eventually the shoe discoloured from pink to a weird browny-green, so that was the end of it.
But this year I had the chance to glory in your jelly footed shenanigans once again! I could, if I so wished, confidently strut about with comforting jelly glittered tootsies once more. I’m usually not so much of a trend loving fashion victim, but you must understand, jelly shoes speak to my soul, which is invariably 100% glitter. It also fits in well with my life long dream to be Claudia Kishi. What’s not to love?
Well, as I’ve already said, it didn’t happen. I’m not good at spontaneity. I like to plan things, to think about them, to mull them over. I weigh up options. I go for the practical choice. I did not want an impractical jelly shoe to sit and mock me. I wanted us to be best friends. Which meant wearing in the sandals I already had before purchasing new shoes. Then I had to figure out what in my wardrobe would actually match you to best appeal, dear jelly shoe. To be honest, there were a few things that would have worked. But I worried about being less fierce than the girl on the train. I worried about letting you down. Making you look like a gimmick, rather than jewel of the footsies that you really are.
I hesitated. Now it’s October. It’s too late. I won’t get enough sandal wearing out of you to justify my purchase. If I buy now for next summer there is no guarantee your moment in the spotlight won’t have passed and I’ll risk looking like a basic bitch, drinking out of a jam jar and reading Twilight. Neither of us wants that. It doesn’t do you the justice you deserve. I know you have winter-based gum boot type variants, but it’s not the same. I just don’t have that connection (nor, probably, the wardrobe to match).
So, I’m sorry, jelly shoes. It seems that you and I were just never meant to be. We’re two ships passing in the night. I wish it could be different, but I can’t change the facts, the past, nor the weather.
Sparkle on, sweet jellies.
PS – this blog isn’t ridiculous at all.