Monday: brown Bottega Veneta kiltie slingbacks

I’ve never been able to wear white shoes. Even when I was a kid, and other girls wore nice shiny patent white mary janes with little frilly socks, I refused to let my mom put them on my feet. I’m not certain why I had such a visceral response to white shoes even then. Maybe it was a fear of scuffs, or mud. Maybe it was always after Labor Day.

In any case, when I got a little older, they became associated with nurses’ shoes, which I gathered were designed for women who were on their feet all day and thus were far too sensible.

I’ve come close; I’ve bought off-white shoes before — and left them to gather dust in my closet. Even when Carrie started wearing white pumps in Season 4 of Sex and the City — or maybe because she did — I didn’t change my mind. I don’t even like wearing white sneakers to the gym!

But stop the presses: I may be having a change of heart. First there was the Chanel couture show this week, where models floated out in their perfectly cut suits — and these perfectly fabulous white go-go boots (Chanelized with black patent cap toes). Must. Have. Boots…

And that’s not all. I’ve also got my eye on these Christian Louboutin white satin and grosgrain platform sandals that a friend spotted at Bergdorf’s. There’s just something about them — so pretty, so high, so impractical! And thus so irresistible! I know in my heart the unlikelihood of my ever wearing them… and yet… and yet… Must. Have. Louboutins. What’s come over me?

For now, I’m resisting the irresistible. The only thing stopping me from buying them, it turns out, is my conscience. First of all, in all earnestness, it would make me feel really bad that such a beautiful pair of shoes would never see the light of day (never mind the $730 price tag). Okay, whatever. But more importantly I can’t rightly steal these shoes from my friend — that’s worse than stealing a guy! And she saw them first! I really can’t risk bringing the wrath of the shoe gods upon me. Can you imagine always seeing shoes you want and never being able to find your size? Yeah. Bad shoe karma. Shudder!

Friday: Prada crocodile heels

Oh the horror, the horror! I finally got around to reading the Thursday Styles section of the Times, and buried amidst the coverage of the couture and stories about manbags and silicone injections was a mere sliver of a column about Saturday’s fire at the Prada boutique in Soho.

The first two paragraphs talk about the cutting-edge Rem Koolhaas design, the $900,000 elevator, the store’s tourist-destination status. And then we read about the six injured firemen and Bobbi Brown’s spared lipstick. Not to seem insensitive, but talk about burying the lead! The first mention of the damaged spring merchandise came a full 3 1/2 column inches into the story. (And the ignominy of it all — the fire started in a nearby American Eagle Outfitters store!) While I do of course wish the firemen a speedy recovery, my heart truly aches for those poor scorched, then drenched, Prada outfits that will never be.

I heard years ago — and maybe it’s merely an urban myth — that Louis Vuitton, rather than ever discounting its merch at the end of the season, destroys everything that’s past its sell-by date. So it makes me wonder what will happen to the damaged Prada. Will there be — dare I say it? — a fire sale? (No, I don’t really think there would ever be one, but I just couldn’t resist that stupid joke.)

Wednesday: brown suede Prada mules

How often do you go shopping? Are you an impulse buyer? Do you shop alone?

There are certain questions that are just off-limits; for instance, a wise man once told me, you never ask a woman her age or her original hair color. (Okay, it was a wise woman.) Now I’d add to that list this one: Never ask a woman about her shopping habits.

Though in these days of the Clintonian sentence parsing, ecommerce 24/7 and easy returns, it’s quite easy to get out of those sorts of questions. “Oh, I don’t go shopping everyday” sounds reasonable but really just means “I don’t leave my house and physically go shopping somewhere every single day, but I do obsess over ebay five hours a day.” See where I’m going with that?

If you picked up a Tory tunic on a whim on the 5th floor of Saks and then wandered down to the shoe department where you loitered for a good hour, trying on Jimmy Choo after Jimmy Choo, then go back upstairs and purchase the tunic — phew! — well, does that really qualify as “impulse buying”? I think not. Far too much involvement and consideration (okay, time at least) to be impulsive.

As for shopping alone, well it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t need to hide anything if you follow this amendment to the rule: Never ask a woman her shopping habits — unless you know you can keep up with her. If you tell someone who also has a problem, you become each other’s accomplice, and thus you each earn a confidante, the one person to tell all your shopping secrets to, with no consequences at all. Confess away! Your conscience is freed and your high is sustained. And so no one can say you have a problem because you don’t shop like an alcoholic drinks– alone, unsupervised. How proud I am to have gotten to this point — until it occurs to me. Isn’t binge drinking accompanied with all your frat buddies way worse??

Monday: black Prada rosebud slingbacks

Thanks to the unseasonably warm weather we’ve had in New York lately — this weekend it hit 63 degrees, a temperature usually not seen until mid-April — I’ve got a serious case of spring fever. I know it’s just a tease, and a blizzard is probably just around the corner (not to mention a transit strike, which would be a real buzz kill for my footwear plans). But I still got a pedicure, just in case.

Regardless of whether or not global warming is happening a lot more rapidly than anyone ever thought, the fact is I’m already bored of my fall/winter shoes and clothes. Yet there’s not much I can do about it. I’m tired of seeing the picked-over sale racks overshadowing the spring merch at Saks and Bergdorf’s. And there’s just a smattering of pre-collection stuff on the websites.

Right now I’m loving this Marc by Marc Jacobs ikat weave dress and these Gucci heels, but who’s to say I’ll still want to wear them when spring really comes for good? Maybe there’s a cosmic reason why both Lent and tax day occur this time of year — this neither-here-nor-there shopping season when purchases either feel like a holiday hangover (e.g. the stuff you wouldn’t buy if it weren’t 60% off) or like foolish speculation (e.g. the stuff you wouldn’t buy past the vernal equinox). It’s the belt tightening after the holiday excess; the dieting before swimsuit season. It should be easy to slow down for a few weeks.

Did I really just write that? Help! Blame it on the weatherman!

Friday: black Guccissima slingbacks

For some reason– oh, I can’t imagine why — I’ve been asked a lot recently how many pairs of shoes I own.

I hem, I haw. I say things like, “I’m not going to tell you!!!!” I change the subject.

In truth… um… er… I don’t count. And no, I don’t mean that I can’t count that high! I mean I won’t count. It’s one of those things — like defense lawyers who never ask their clients if they dunnit. Deniability, that’s what it’s all about.

I could guesstimate, I suppose, and if absolutely pressed to divulge some sort of number, I’d have to say… well, it’d round up to 100. More than 50 (yeah, okay, even if I don’t count I have to admit that it’s definitely well over 50) but fewer than 100. I figure if I make regular donations to Goodwill and maintain what feels like a number below three digits, I can’t possibly be completely out of control. (And as long as my apartment doesn’t look like I’m one of those hoarders who die and then no one can find their bodies amidst all the… stuff. Even if it means I keep having to buy more armoires.)

Am I being disingenuous? I am, after all, someone who posts the shoes I’m wearing on each entry. But it’s the honest truth. And for a very simple reason: It’s the only way I can keep my conscience clear… to buy more shoes!