Shoes, please
Your summer footwear crisis—solved (or at least managed)
I hear we’re all on the hunt for summer shoes.
A struggle I know well, until I smack myself over the head and remember the ones I wore last year still work. Maybe even better now than they did then.
Shocking, I know.
But the real problem isn’t the shoes. It’s the creeping belief that somewhere out there, a newer, sleeker, more correct pair exists. One that will finally complete us. One that says she’s in the know, but likes to tell people she hates trends.
Before you doom-scroll your way into another unnecessary cart, let me save you some time: what was “in” last year probably aged like a fine wine. Think a Barolo with more personality and charm than when you first cracked it open. Maybe she felt a little sharp at the time, a touch too trendy or tannic. But give her a year?
Suddenly, she’s complex.
Rich.
Goes with everything in your closet.
And is impossible to find online in your size.
In fact, if I see you in last year’s shoes (even better if they’re a knock-off version of The Row), I’ll probably nod approvingly from across the street and think that’s my kind of girl. They hit even harder now, not because they’re trendy, but because you clearly don’t care. Nothing says taste like quietly refusing to participate.
Shoe trends are a group project. Opt out.
And if I catch you panic-buying the shoe of the season just because everyone said you had to have it, I’d rather we sit down and talk about what’s really going on. You have more shoes than your closet can hold, and you only wear about three to five pairs.
So let’s start with a classic we should all have, shall we?
Black sandals—the understated heroes of summer footwear.
They’re the white T-shirt and Levi’s of shoes.
The dog-eared paperback you’ve packed for every trip since 2016.
The ’90s sitcom reruns you pretend you’re over but still quote without realizing.
You reach for them because they require zero thought, make everything you own look slightly more intentional, and somehow manage to be both practical and polished, which feels like a scam but isn’t. They survive sandy beach vacations and Manhattan cobblestones alike, never asking for much—just a pedicure and a little gratitude.
You probably already own a pair. Maybe two. Maybe six.
And yet… here we are again.
But that’s the thing about black sandals: they never show up the same way twice.
Maybe she’s a kitten heel. Maybe she’s a barely-there ankle strap. Or maybe she’s the minimalist flat you wore into the ground last August. She’s not done yet. She just needed a little time off (don’t we all?).
And then there are the flats with a little more flair…
The ones you don’t reach for quite as often as your LBS (that’s little black sandal, obviously), but refuse to part with because they’re too charming, too weird, or too beautiful to toss. Think crochet flats that feel one misstep away from unraveling entirely, or mesh slippers that say I was very online in 2024 without saying it.
And listen—I know we’ve all spent the past month on here collectively dragging jelly sandals (I believe the phrase was wet plastic regret), but here’s the thing: I love mine. I really do. A good friend once told me they looked like they were 3D-printed onto my feet at an art school open house, and that only strengthened my resolve.
Then there are brands like Hvóya, a recent discovery thanks to
, and I’ve never wanted a shoe that looks like it was hand-knit by my grandmother in 1973 more.Especially these, which feel equally right for a Euro Summer or just a weekly Whole Foods run—because if not now, when? And if not at Whole Foods, where?
Ah, yes. The shoe we (I?) wear the most. A sporty sneaker.
Nike, Adidas, New Balance, Asics—I don’t discriminate. But I’m picky about pairs that walk the fine line between functional and fun. Meaning I can stroll six miles to the Upper East Side and still keep them on for a casual function without looking like I just escaped a retirement home spin class. There’s nothing worse than insoles sending serious geriatric vibes that require a backup shoe plan.
I used to be obsessed with chasing the next sneaker drop, but I’d wear them for a week and then retreat to the same pair I’ve already bought about 15 times before. If you want to switch things up, color is your friend. You already know what works for your feet, so don’t use sneaker shopping as an excuse to sacrifice comfort.
And let’s just acknowledge the classics stick around for a reason.
Sambas will be the shoes that escort us into the nursing home where we’ll be buried in them, probably with a tiny sock liner and a tan line straight out of elementary school soccer, circa age seven. Some things just don’t need fixing.
Personally, I lean Nike.
They refresh styles almost too frequently, which makes me feel like I’m getting an upgrade without veering too far off script. The vibe is part I work out sometimes, part Andre Agassi in the ’90s, but make it fashion editor on a coffee run. In other words: retro, irreverent, and just sporty enough to earn approving nods from both dads and downtown cool girls.
And finally, the summer heel. My kryptonite, my Achilles’ heel, my fiscally irresponsible love language.
Not because I need the extra height (though let’s be honest, a little lift never hurts when you're trying to command attention), but because there’s something about a heeled sandal that carries intention. Yes, it’s 93 degrees and the pavement could fry an egg, but you still showed up. A summer heel isn’t practical. That’s the point.
And no, we’re not talking about the 4-inch stiletto that gets trotted out for weddings and regretted by dessert. This is the irrationally perfect mid-heel: 1.75 inches of sensual optimism. The kind of shoe a woman in Milan might wear to grab a macchiato — looking like she rolled out of bed and still managed to be effortlessly, irritatingly chic without spilling a single drop.
This season, I’m toggling between a kitten heel stamped with my favorite Italian logo and a raffia number with an ankle strap so delicate it’s basically decorative. Are they made for walking? Not really. But they’re made for wanting.
So if you’re going to get them, get them with conviction. Wear them with a basket bag and your most unwashed hair. Wear them to buy apricots and pretend you’re curating a picnic. Wear them for the sun-drenched version of yourself who insists on overdressing — especially for the mundane.
Whether you’re sandal shopping, sneaker hunting, or just here for moral support, remember this—the best pair might already be in your closet.
I dare you to dig around and resurrect something from last summer. Give her a second wind. You liked her once for a reason.
I’ll see you in the nursing home still wearing our Sambas like the icons we are. And hey, don’t let the algorithm convince you that you need something new just to feel current.
Dare to be different. Or at the very least, delightfully unbothered.
“wet plastic regret” took me out.