There Are No Toes In Corporate!

One of my favorite lines from "A League of Their Own" is shreiked at near hysterical Evelyn by the almost equally hysterical
Jimmy Dugan. Practically spitting with rage Jimmy attempts to instruct Evelyn in the finer points of the game

Jimmy Dugan: Evelyn, could you come here for a second? Which team do you play for? Evelyn Gardner: Well, I'm a Peach. Jimmy Dugan: Well I was just wonderin' why you would throw home when we got a two-run lead. You let the tying run get on second base and we lost the lead because of you. Start using your head. That's the lump that's three feet above your ass. [Evelyn starts to cry]
Jimmy Dugan: Are you crying? Are you crying? ARE YOU CRYING? There's no crying! THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL! Doris Murphy: Why don't you give her a break, Jimmy...
Jimmy Dugan: Oh, you zip it, Doris! Rogers Hornsby was my manager, and he called me a talking pile of pigshit. And that was when my parents drove all the way down from Michigan to see me play the game. And did I cry? Evelyn Gardner: No, no, no. Jimmy Dugan: NO. NO. And do you know why? Evelyn Gardner: No...
Jimmy Dugan: Because there's no crying in baseball. THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL! No crying!

I couldn't resist the whole passage- it's just too darned funny. But... obviously my tendency for digression persists, my personal philosophy of telling a story being that the shortest distance between two story points is... well... nonexistent.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I have been working on a more corporate look at work. I, too have a coach. We will call him Mr. L. Mr. L works for a mega huge big corporation and though he may not FOLLOW the rules, after many years with the mega huge big corporation he knows what they are, and bends them regularly. Bends but not breaks. A good coach for me as if I had to adhere to a system of absolutes my employment opportunities might be limited to work that includes such duties as asking if you perhaps might possibly want fries with that. The dress code would be simpler- something with a shirt that had my name embroidered over the pocket.

I have a basic working knowledge of what a corporate look is- after all- I pass poor souls on the street daily- eat with them in cafes and wonder how they get their plain green salads with a spritz of balsamic vinegar past their tightly knotted ties or digest while wearing that most medieval of inventions, panty hose. I would like to point out that tie tie/pantyhose thing is an either/or situation as I do not imagine there are many cases where the two are worn together. but the mind does boggle and reel just thinking about it.

So I have the suit thing solved- at least til the temps drop below 45, I am covered, in a variety of nice materials in configurations of suit jacket and skirt, suit pants and shirt and vest- skirt and jacket, etc. And I look pretty good. Except.

I never looked under the table while the corporate minions graze and was not QUITE sure what was acceptable footwear. I already have a gorgeous pair of vintage crocodile pumps with a moderate if somewhat saucy Cuban heel which are distinctive but in no way... weird or uncorporate. Unless your idea of conservative is saddle shoes, in which case - ok, they're weird. But also in the rather extensive shoe collection are several pairs of my work dress-up shoes which have served me well to this point as I just didnt feel the need to dress up much. The brown matte satin peek-toe pumps with the ecru pin polka dots, circa 1940 and pristine, the creped black ultra-pointy shoes with the cut-out instep, the "You DO NOT want to mess with me" slingbacks with the 4.5" heel- knicknamed- "The Convincer". I didn't actually NEED to shop for shoes- but if I did buy any more- I'd need a new apartment.

The solution? Call in the coach. I asked the coach, with appropriate reverence- if I could pose a corporate shoe question. A lesser sensei might have balked at such a minor detail, but Mr. L. being very wise in corporate ways knows that God- and a positive yearly review and subsequent bonus, is in the details. "I can wear slingbacks and still be corporate, right?" I said, firmly- I knew this couldn't be a problem. "No heels in corporate" He said, his tone brooked no question. Maybe in climbing the corporate ladder one might tend to slip in slingbacks- moving on- "How about ultra pointy shoes?" I said.. my bunions praying on this one for a negative response. "There is no point in corporate" zen koan or shoe advice? Mattered not, my feet opined- we hated the pointy ones anyway. I drew the last card from my hand "How about peeky-toe..." I could not even finish the sentence. It was as if I had violated the 11th commandment "There are no TOES in corporate".

Shit.

I just sat there, awaiting Mr. L's return to his usual demeanor of bonhomie- he's the kind of laid back authoritative guy you imagine smoking a pipe- even when he's not. "No toes?" I squeaked. "No." "Not even one..." "NO...Toes" I thanked him for his time and headed back to the shoe stores. In flip flops. In case you wondered- very not corporate. Everywhere I went- toes. Macy's windows. Toes- paptent leather platforms and criss crossed strappy sandals mocked me from the windows of Bendel's.
Here's my question- the shoes ranged in price from $200-$600- without a corporate salary HOW can you buy it? And with a five inch heel and a sole the thickness of a slice of tuscan white truffle where do you wear them? I imagine the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Sarah Jessica Parker need to worry a bit less- I am certain under the sole of these dainties lurks a little label specifying that the wearer cannot weigh more than 98 pounds dripping wet and any food consumed while wearing them should be immediately coughed up to spare wear and tear on the heels.

But still I had a dilemma. I was well clad and shoeless. It worked for Abbey Road but I am not Paul McCartney and this isn't London 1967. But I thought about it- while clothes may make the man- shoes do not make the woman. My wearing heels- even with a peek-toe, won't slow me down. Nor for awhile, will it hobble me to keep the piggies under wraps. So I bow to the sensei- whose earring twinkles blatantly in defiance of the mega big huge company's preferences for executives. And the day after my first big coup- I will celebrate with a pedicure and brazenly show one perfectly lacquered digit, therefore challenging the status quo, one toe at a time.