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| Yogatoes® |
I hate my toes. Fact. I spent many a year pretending to be a size 7 shoe when really I'm an 8. Yet another fact. Given my unfortunate digital inheritance and years of surreptitious foot binding, I am not privy to use of the term 'flip flop'. This is a source of great anxiety for me each summer. A few years ago I went to Greece and was told by a complete stranger that something could be done about my toes. She went so far as to recommend Harley Street. I spent the rest of that holiday knee-deep in sand. With my 2010 Spanish break looming, I've been desperate to find sandals that can double up as a cunning disguise.
Thus far, I found a pair of fringed gladiators on Asos.com; and a jewel/feather offering from River Island – neither of which cloaks said offending piggies. With little or no choice, I’ve been forced to engage in D.I.Y. tactics – if you can call them that. Let’s just say my sartorial strategy isn’t exactly military precise. I bought some peacock feathers (as you do) from A. Rubanesque, convinced that I could successfully glue them onto the sandal toe post. I also cut tassels from a cross-body bag in the hope creating some boho toe camouflage. No go. Both missions bore the hallmark of WW2 scrim netting; rather than haute haberdashery.
Time for a Plan B: a toe ring. Eureka! How very clever of me. Or was it? Perhaps the adhesive fumes from the previous exercise clouded my judgement but I don’t think I bargained on just how many would be required to cover my prodigious phalanges. Something tells me circus freak chic is an oxymoron. Maybe I could just make like Lady Godiva and wear bells on my toes? Then again she was starkers so I doubt anyone was really looking at her feet.
Failing that, there’s a contraption called Yogatoes® - a big hit Stateside according to the bloggers at Beaut.ie. With the help of a gelatinous toe separator (and $50), one’s trotters can allegedly achieve Zen-like perfection. Hmm, smells like marketing hokum methinks. (Rich words from the girl who just purchased a ‘millionizing’ mascara.) With that, my quest (and neurosis) continues. In the meantime, if you hear the distant sound of bells, you know where to hide.
