I was in Amsterdam, at the famed Waterloo Plain flea market, during a much-needed day off on a seven-week European tour with my band in 1993; we had been told that it was time to go, daylight was fading and we had been invited to a dinner party at our tour manager’s house. I turned to take one last longing look at a giant pile of fabulous leather jackets, and then I saw them.
They were the shoes I thought only existed in my dreams. An unusual shade of deep forest green, round toed, t-strapped Mary Janes, with a perfect three-inch chunky heel and one-inch platform. They were perched atop a humongous pile of worn black cowhide, the only shoes in an ocean of coats. It was as if they had suddenly appeared out of thin air, incongruous in their surroundings, and I swear I heard angels sing as my salivary glands sprung to life and I was helpless against the siren song of The Shoes. I had to have them.
As my band-mates waited impatiently, I felt compelled by an unstoppable force to get to the shoes as quickly as possible. I approached the stocky, suede-capped man who was packing up his wares for the day, and stammered, “The shoes. Are they for sale?”
Thank God he spoke English, because let me tell you, Dutch is no joke. I spent a decent amount of time with a Dutch tour manager, in Holland, and frankly I couldn’t make head or tail of the language no matter how I tried.
“These shoes? Oh, they were my daughter’s, she does not want them anymore,” said the gentleman.
“Could I-may I please-is it all right if I…I WANT them” I stammered too loudly, wiping drool from my chin. I had lost my ability to speak properly, so entranced I was by my proximity to The Shoes.
“Sure, you can put on”, the salesman kindly replied.
With trembling hands I took The Shoes from his weathered hands and sat clumsily on a pile of worn black leather. I wrenched off the boots I had been wearing every day for a month, boots I had previously loved but now couldn’t stand the sight of, and as I slipped my feet into The Shoes, everything else seemed fuzzy and distant. Nothing else existed in that moment save for me and The Shoes, which fit perfectly, as if they were made for me and had been waiting for me as long as I had fantasized about them.
The leather man was either in a hurry to pack up, or he saw the crazy American girl’s dilated pupils and the flushed glow of desperate passion in my face, but what happened next remains one of the finest fashion moments in my memory.
“You take them”, he said.
“Oh, but I don’t have enough money I don’t think, actually I don’t know because I haven’t figured out the Kroners or whatever, and I have to go, I’m sorry, but I…I love them.”
“You take them. No pay. My daughter doesn’t want them, you can have”, replied my new God.
This went on for a few minutes, with my band-mates and the other band with whom we were touring standing by supremely annoyed (they were all guys, they didn’t understand) until finally one of them yelled, “TAKE THE SHOES AND LET’S GO.”
My new leather-clad Diety smiled and handed them to me gently. I looked up at him with what must have been a mixture of adoration, worship and gratitude, and I took The Shoes, which were now mine, and I was in heaven.
I wore those things until they literally broke in half on my feet. I had them resoled four times, eventually resorted to duct tape, and finally had to perform a sort of self-intervention to force myself to let them go. We had a great ride, me and The Shoes.
I searched far and wide for a photo of The Shoes, of me wearing them, so I could show you their fabulousness, but all the pics I found are of me behind the drum kit or that don’t show my feet. Rest assured, Reader, they were amazing. I haven’t found another pair like them since. It was one of those magical fashion experiences that comes along a few times in one’s lifetime, and I am grateful to have had the pleasure.
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You played drums with a three-inch chunky heel and one-inch platform?!? Love the post. Fantastic story. It was Chris T who yelled at you wasn’t it?
I had a similar experience at that market in Amsterdam but minus the impatient boys, and with patient girls from my band. The object of my affection however was a red suede skirt with silver snaps up the front. It was a dream with the platform MaryJanes that I had found in Italy. I still have it. It doesn’t fit anymore and I’m sure if it did I would look ridiculous, but Lordy Lou those were the days…. Thanks for sparking the memories.
Later that day, Carlo was overheard saying to a new customer, “Well, that’s it. That’s every pair of shoes in the place. Unless, of course, you’d like to try the cruel shoes.”