Never before have feet been so important to the British public than during the summer of 2002. It was a couple of weeks before the impending World Cup and Beckham, our Messiah, had broken his foot. As the country went into meltdown, all I could think was, ‘Well he hasn’t got very nice feet; how disappointing’.
People looked at me in disgust as their hopes were dashed of footballing triumph. On reflection, I should’ve kept my foot prejudices to myself, but as the summer season reaches a peak once more and toes are being freed from the shackles of shoes, I realise: come rain or shine, I take feet very seriously.
Now, I’m pretty in favour of the whole body confidence thing and try not to be too preoccupied with the aesthetics of the human form, so to be so concerned with something that isn’t even at eye level seems trivial, right? But I just can’t help it.
Only one other person I’ve met understands how I feel about feet and that was a guy I dated who had a foot fetish. A mild foot fetish, but a foot fetish nonetheless. However, even he went too far when he took my shoe off in Mahiki just ‘to have a look’. He complimented them, which would have been fine, had he also complimented my face or even the dress I was wearing. It was at this point I realised he wasn’t dating me; he was dating my toes. And so that was the end of that one.
More recently, when I first, ahem, saw my current boyfriend’s bare feet, I (obviously) noticed that, much to my dismay, he had two black toe nails. I’m talking midnight black, dead as a dodo, goner toe nails. All I could think about was when they would fall off, whether it would be in the bed or the shower and whether he dared uncover them in public. Had I been unsure about how much I liked him? It would have genuinely been a deal breaker. Shallow or what?
A few months later, he is teaching me to be less superficial about feet by sending me picture messages of his recently departed toe nails proudly perched on a shelf in his room. After tears, they were taken down. I laughed, we all laughed, I’m over it.
I guess I should care a little less about THE FUNNIEST LOOKING BODY PART SINCE THE PENIS, if not for the sake of vanity but because some of us are lucky enough to even have them, right?
And without these bad boys, we wouldn’t be able to go out dancing tonight.