The Beautification of Bipedalism
The Beautification of Bipedalism
Why one might be better off as a mermaid
It is a universal truth that women with feet like shoes. Shoes that go to work, shoes that are comfortable - or more often not. They may be shiny shoes that serve no practical function or those nice black stilettos that go with all your formal wear or shoes that perform multiple tasks. But under most circumstances, love for the sake of loving shoes.
And why not buy shoes for the sake of buying them too?
Meredith is an exclusion to this truth because she has no feet. This is because she is a mermaid. However taking the exception into mind she still shares the same familiar love that binds us to the ten arduous hours of futility that is shoe shopping.
You might wonder though, how it is possible to accomplish this with only fins and seaweed-based currency? In fact Meredith’s condition only satisfy in making the day-to-day tribulations of womanhood only easier with the elimination of problems such as pinchy toes and abrasive heels. And with a little help from our friend mastercard she can be awarded with (dare we say!) a “priceless” cliché, costing her approximately $500 AU per annum.
Indeed one can almost envy her, like a size 14 friend might envy her size 8 pal for the sheer look-good-in-anything-made-for-an-unrealistic-market-standard factor. As for example, Meredith is oblivious to the fact that pointy shoes are made only for the sole reason of making you look like the wicked clown of the west. She is also somewhat unfamiliar with the dual swordedness of designer shoe sales. But what she does understand is the fact that shoes are far too overrated and expressibly so by the price tag.
Market shares have probably gone up due to the manufacture of within-budget but fundamentally flawed shoes. To elaborate, shoes that look like what you want but feel like chainsaw shackles. Now you ask “Why would this increase market share?”, because they also happen to manufacture the ‘model-up’ shoes. Shoes that are everything you want, everything you need (well up until the point where you wear them out). These shoes are the original darlings of creation, designed to suit your every whim of your bipedal madness. The style is exquisite. The shade of red is entirely to your liking. It even has flashing neon lights that say “Buy Me I’m Genuine Leather!” Your attention is then drawn to the immensely small and non-illuminated sign underneath that quotes the price.
Assuming that you had bought these exquisite shoes. Assuming that your brain took a backseat as your intuition tells you that they are the only shoes for you and none can replace it, not even in a hundred billion zillion years… Assuming that your brain then resurfaced a week into the aftermath when you look at your bank balance. It is beyond assumption that these shoes, like all good things come to an end. And upon that you find yourself without these genuine leather beauties you so doted over, back at square one. Partially clothed and a different person.
So why all the angst, why all the sorrow? Because shoes are more than just spilt milk. They are more than the handbag or the hat that matches with your favourite dress. It is more than a commodity of lust. It is the protector of feet, the benefactor of our daily toil. It is love itself. And as it is love itself, it is also life. Something that our mer-friend Meredith will not understand as the perfect shoe, like men and other things mankind’s quest for perfection finds itself analogous to, is not something you want for the aestheticism and the satisfaction of possession. It compliments life. It assists you in your times of trouble. It is not second best but the undeniable best. It would not desert you mid-road but takes you where you want to be. In this you realise that perhaps it is not too bad being a slave to mass production. Perhaps it is better to be a slave to passion than a master of your own whim, because in that way you experience the necessities of life and the joy of having it.
And Meredith? She is still shopping.
Why one might be better off as a mermaid
It is a universal truth that women with feet like shoes. Shoes that go to work, shoes that are comfortable - or more often not. They may be shiny shoes that serve no practical function or those nice black stilettos that go with all your formal wear or shoes that perform multiple tasks. But under most circumstances, love for the sake of loving shoes.
And why not buy shoes for the sake of buying them too?
Meredith is an exclusion to this truth because she has no feet. This is because she is a mermaid. However taking the exception into mind she still shares the same familiar love that binds us to the ten arduous hours of futility that is shoe shopping.
You might wonder though, how it is possible to accomplish this with only fins and seaweed-based currency? In fact Meredith’s condition only satisfy in making the day-to-day tribulations of womanhood only easier with the elimination of problems such as pinchy toes and abrasive heels. And with a little help from our friend mastercard she can be awarded with (dare we say!) a “priceless” cliché, costing her approximately $500 AU per annum.
Indeed one can almost envy her, like a size 14 friend might envy her size 8 pal for the sheer look-good-in-anything-made-for-an-unrealistic-market-standard factor. As for example, Meredith is oblivious to the fact that pointy shoes are made only for the sole reason of making you look like the wicked clown of the west. She is also somewhat unfamiliar with the dual swordedness of designer shoe sales. But what she does understand is the fact that shoes are far too overrated and expressibly so by the price tag.
Market shares have probably gone up due to the manufacture of within-budget but fundamentally flawed shoes. To elaborate, shoes that look like what you want but feel like chainsaw shackles. Now you ask “Why would this increase market share?”, because they also happen to manufacture the ‘model-up’ shoes. Shoes that are everything you want, everything you need (well up until the point where you wear them out). These shoes are the original darlings of creation, designed to suit your every whim of your bipedal madness. The style is exquisite. The shade of red is entirely to your liking. It even has flashing neon lights that say “Buy Me I’m Genuine Leather!” Your attention is then drawn to the immensely small and non-illuminated sign underneath that quotes the price.
Assuming that you had bought these exquisite shoes. Assuming that your brain took a backseat as your intuition tells you that they are the only shoes for you and none can replace it, not even in a hundred billion zillion years… Assuming that your brain then resurfaced a week into the aftermath when you look at your bank balance. It is beyond assumption that these shoes, like all good things come to an end. And upon that you find yourself without these genuine leather beauties you so doted over, back at square one. Partially clothed and a different person.
So why all the angst, why all the sorrow? Because shoes are more than just spilt milk. They are more than the handbag or the hat that matches with your favourite dress. It is more than a commodity of lust. It is the protector of feet, the benefactor of our daily toil. It is love itself. And as it is love itself, it is also life. Something that our mer-friend Meredith will not understand as the perfect shoe, like men and other things mankind’s quest for perfection finds itself analogous to, is not something you want for the aestheticism and the satisfaction of possession. It compliments life. It assists you in your times of trouble. It is not second best but the undeniable best. It would not desert you mid-road but takes you where you want to be. In this you realise that perhaps it is not too bad being a slave to mass production. Perhaps it is better to be a slave to passion than a master of your own whim, because in that way you experience the necessities of life and the joy of having it.
And Meredith? She is still shopping.