I’m big on lists. I write them in my planner, on scraps of paper (when said planner is unavailable), and when things get really desperate, in smudgy scribbles on my hands. My favorite type is of the “to buy” assortment, although mine always seems to grow and can never be completed, creating one giant, ongoing list. Almost every time I head to a shop, be it alone or with friends, for large pieces of furniture or just groceries, I will secretly be clutching a list detailing exactly what I’d like to buy. There’s just one problem: no matter what I have on my list, I somehow always end up bringing home the same thing. Shoes.
Last weekend, I went out looking for a vintage trunk to use as a coffee table in my new place. What did I come home with? Vintage suede slippers with a delicately embroidered toe in a delicious olive green. A few weeks earlier, it was black patent vintage Ferragamos with a fabric bow and gold detailing, a pair so precious they managed to trump my basic food needs for the week. No matter how final my lists are on paper, my mind always seems to have a subconscious agenda that constantly pulls me to the footwear department, distracting me from the things I actually need.