If I Were a Shoe...

If I were a shoe, I’d be a Birkenstock. I first became familiar with these wondrous shoes after Bill and I went to Germany in the early 1990s. As we walked around Bonn with my cousin Wolfgang and his wife Sabine, these shoes were everywhere. It seemed that every third pair of German legs was being transported around that beautiful city on a pair of Birkenstocks.

“Those shoes,” I finally asked Sabine after my curiosity was sufficiently piqued. “Are they good?”

“Oh, yes,” she said enthusiastically. “Very comfortable and good for your feet. But not very pretty, I think.”

Pretty or not, I was intrigued. When we returned home, I had to drive all over North Jersey to find a store that sold them. Apparently Americans don’t feel the love for Birkenstocks like the Europeans do, because this was no easy task. Keep in mind that this was before the days of that wondrous shopper's dream called the internet. Eventually I found a store and I bought my first pair. They were expensive, but I was sure that thousands of German feet could not be wrong. So I wore them one day, but after a few hours I realized I had made a costly mistake. They were horrible; not comfortable at all. I put them back in the box and shoved them in a dark corner of my closet for at least a year.

Then one day, guilt over the purchase price got the better of me and I decided to give them another try. I wore them once. Then I wore them again. And again. Soon I wanted to wear nothing else on my feet. Once I had broken them in, I realized, they had become my own personal shoe. I don’t know the exact science or mechanics behind them, but apparently when pressure from walking and the heat from your feet are given time, the foot creates indentations in the cork bottoms that basically mold to your feet. They become like slippers, only better because you can wear them out in public. I’ve been obsessed with them ever since. I wear my Birkenstocks almost every day—winter or summer, clogs or sandals. I even have one pair of dressy black ones.

To walk in a nicely broken-in pair of Birkis is like talking to an old friend—it molds to you and you to it. Even after being put on the shelf for the winter months, come spring, my sandals—or the relationship—still fit perfectly. No need to get re-acquainted or experience another awkward break-in phase again. I find that the best friends I have are like this: a perfect fit no matter how much time or distance exists. No break-in phase necessary. Just slip into the comfort of the relationship and start the journey right where you left off.