miliFirst to rec
“One of the more tragic facets of my generational trauma is that my mother and I are a different shoe size.
She is a 7 1/2 and I, a whopping 9.
It wasn't enough that my mom worked in fashion and had a closet to covet, but she became an actual shoe addict in one of the best eras for shoes - the 90s. I'm talking cowhide, mules, cowboy boots, strappy kitten heels, wedges, sample sales, pumps, pre-911 manufacturing... tear
Before the soles were down to the glue, she would bring her haul down to Tokyo Joe, future me sulking by her side, to see if there were any takers.
This place is still so cool and good, don't blow it up, or do.”
