This past Saturday night was just like any other: I got dolled up in cute jeans and sky high stilettos and made my way out to the bar with friends. We circled the bar drinks in hand, danced, sang, and collectively winced in pain as our super-sexy shoes grew more and more uncomfortable.

When the lights came on at the end of the night we waddled out as our feet wailed and kicked our shoes off as soon as our butts hit the frozen leather seats of my Volkswagen Jetta.

“Oh my God,” my friend cooed, stretching out her visibly red and blistered toes. “That feels amazing.” When I dropped her off at home, she walked from the car to her front door barefoot, despite the snow on the ground.

I did the same and spent the following morning – as I often spend Sunday mornings - nursing my ailing feet with a hot bath and lots of Band-Aids.

My mother called me mid-way through my foot therapy and commiserated with my pain. And then gave me the best advice I have ever received:

“Get some Cole Haan pumps.” Read More »