Post-pandemic shoes, post-pandemic beauty… time to let go of those (formerly) beloved high heeled power boots.

A musing about some of the things we need to let go of.

…about boots, the pandemic, fashion, changes, pain, and reenvisioning beauty.

Have you begun to rethink how you dress since COVID-19 rocked our world?

How are you revisioning who you will be, post pandemic?

Post-pandemic, what fashion are you re-embracing, what are you rejecting?

What will "pretty” or “professional” or “cute” or “sexy” look like after we (non-20-year-olds) reemerge from this long and unfashionable lock-down?

Me and my little brother.

Before Trump. Before COVID.

Sassy clothes, cute shoes.

Sigh.

You know what I used to think was kind of prepandemic cute/sexy?

The way I looked and felt in my (fairly low heeled) boots or funky shoes, and a skirt.

I loved being a clinic physician who wore sometimes funky shoes, and colorful (but always respectful) outfits. I loved the way it felt to walk through downtown Minneapolis after a show in my relatively comfy but still cool boots. I occasionally suffered through a wedding or event in ridiculously high-heeled but fashionable sexy shoes, limping home afterwards but feeling I had nailed it. I loved wearing cool retro shoes to work and having my pediatric patients respond to them - easy to do when your day involves walking to the next exam room and then sitting for 20 minutes.

There was nothing sexy or even cute about my work attire over the last few years. Front lines facing COVID every day - doffing and donning the shield, the mask, the gown, the gloves, the respirator. The fear. The exhaustion.

My footwear was a pair of Dansko clogs that could be scrubbed with soap every night before I entered my home.

THEN CAME the closure of my clinic and the transition to Urgent care -and weeks later, then came COVID. I wore scrubs, clogs or sneakers and shortly thereafter constant PPE - gown, shield, respirator, gloves. Once COVID hit, the only shoes I wore were those I could scrub every evening before entering my own house, fearful (as we physicians all were) of what I might be bringing home that could kill my family as it was killing others. Long shifts with hours on my feet. Getting home meant crawling, exhausted, into bed. No shoes required.

THEN CAME the big pandemic lock down. Cool clothes and shoes? Heck - just like so many of us - I barely put on sweats - Zoom only required a nice shirt. Slippers. Sweats. The women's clothing industry is still reeling under the financial fallout of our collective "no longer give a shit about that" mentality.

THEN CAME the vaccines; a huge wave of hope and optimism. Last spring and summer felt so much lighter, so hopeful. Strapped on my sneakers and walked the lakes, bought my theater tickets and prepared to move, tried to walk off that pandemic weight gain. I walked every chance I could, appreciating the air and the Minneapolis lakes and my no-longer-taken-for-granted ability to breathe.

THEN CAME a sudden and significant tear of the meniscus in my right knee - an injury that I am still rehabbing 8 months later - and a reciprocal tendonitis in my left foot. So much for all that walking! I wore my sneakers and went to physical therapy and prepared to move to a new life in North Carolina. Which of those cool outfits and shoes to jettison? Which to discard? How to even envision who I would be and what I would wear in this new normal? (Spoiler; I packed and schlepped about 90% of it. )

THEN CAME Omicron. Shit. No one is visiting. I am in a new state and in a new environment and no one is even looking at me. So, I mean, why? I have closets full of my old cool outfits - for work, for opera and theater nights, even for the formal events Bill and I used to attend. And like all of us, I wonder, will I ever wear them again? Will life ever feel normal again in that way?

Here we are now. It’s 2022 and we are all thinking about how, and when, to reemerge. If we are paying attention, we know we are coming out into a changed world. We have changed as well.

I’ve started by auditing some undergrad art history classes at the University of North Carolina. What a joy, to leave my house, to walk through a bustling campus, to learn new things! Reengaging with young, active minds, and looking - well, just a bit OLDER than the average student. While my jeans and T shirts fit in just fine, I decided it was time to stop feeling schloompy. Time to get really dressed again.

SO, on Monday - in a burst of determined optimism - I pulled on one of my old cute dresses and my old cool boots and even put on some makeup (and yes, an N95 mask) and headed off to campus for my art history class, feeling kind of boss and pretty and cool and almost back to normal.

For about 5 minutes, I felt that way.

OUCH. By half a mile into my normal stride from parking to class, my feet and knees were signaling the magnitude of my mistake. The mechanics were all off. That carefully rehabbed knee throbbed its message of disapproval.

You know what is sexy? The confidence and the stride. And the optimism. And the hope.

You know what is NOT sexy?

A limping woman in pain.

Goodbye, old boots (and every pair in my closet like them).

I will find my way back to a "new normal." Like many of us, it will not be a return, but rather, a new revision or revisioning.

And it will involve flats.

Buying these new boots (Munro! Extra wide!) felt like an act, not just of self indulgence, but of optimism… and even more importantly, of firmly reenvisioning - realistically - who I am after the pandemic, and who I will be.

I may do a ritual burning of the closet denizens of the old me - at least, the parts that sent mixed messages, telling me I looked good while bringing me pain.

The new normal me will reject the painful part of beauty. (yes, this means I will never endure waxing ever ever again. Of any part of my body.)

Post-pandemic beauty.

What are you re-embracing? What are you rejecting?

I would love to hear your thoughts.