Rural Realities

Author: Crystal Belle

If you have any insight into my personality, you should know of my innate obsession with shoes. From Prada to Parade, from Nike to Nine West, I love shoes. I can't think of what life would be like without my 72 pairs of shoes. Yes, just say it: oxygen is to life as shoes are to me - necessary for survival! My coming from the very cosmopolitan New York City is of course essential to understanding my fervent fixation with foot coverings.
While walking the crowded sidewalks of New York, one sees a range of shoes: sneakers, pumps, platforms, flip-flops, stilettos, cowboy boots - anything you can imagine in all sizes, shapes, colors and designers. This was my environment all of my life, until I arrived in Vermont. Suddenly, clogs, hiking boots, snow boots, skis and Birkenstock sandals surrounded me.
This was a living nightmare, as there was no way for me to wear my fashionista shoes in a place like Vermont, where winter practically begins in September. Shortly after my arrival freshman year, there was snow on the ground - S-N-O-W! I couldn't believe my eyes. I wondered how I could possibly wear my shoes while stepping into over four inches of snow. The heels of my dress-boots weren't made for this type of life-style, neither were my over-priced Nikes. There was no way this city gal was willing to go from Banana Republic to Birkenstock sandals in 40 degree weather. That never was and was never going to be my style. So I bet you are wondering what I have been doing these past three years?
You got it, I wear my shoes anyway. Even when 12 inches of snow blankets the ground, I continue to sport my New York necessities. Because of my stubbornness to reform to any form of Vermont fashion, if you can in fact call it that, I have suffered the daily wiping-of-shoe-in-bathroom during the winter season to remove the ugly snow prints left on my stylish shoes.
Is it worth it? Of course it is. Many often look at my shoes and consider me absolutely insane and ridiculous. They come up with questions like: "Do you think you are in New York?" or "Crystal, are you really wearing turquoise dress boots in the midst of a snow storm?" I look them straight in the eye and respond "yes" with pride, passion and pizzazz.
My shoes are directly connected to my identity and help me maintain my connection to New York while facing the rural realities of Vermont. My shoes remind me of the fact that I don't really live here and am simply spending a few years of my life in the middle of nowhere. It is not as if I can rely on Glass Bead Game or Old Mountain Thyme for my vital shoe habit. Therefore, I transport my baby divas 270 miles back and forth, providing an element of sanity for my soul here in the Green Mountain State.