I love the way the old Saturday Evening Post covers told a story in one frame. The mother’s look of sadness at her little girl all but grown. The girl herself, awkwardly admiring her own reflection. The salesman counting his commission. The discarded penny loafers.
This was a rite of passage that passed me by. I went straight from loafers and patent leather maryjanes to practical and comfortable knock-offs of Roger Viver’s Pilgrim pump. Even when heels went back up in the 1970s, I tended to wear lower styles. And today I’m strictly a Converse and oxfords type of woman. I don’t think I’ve ever even owned a pair of proper stilettos.
But for that young miss in 1956, the heeled sandals were a necessary part of her dance ensemble. I just hope she didn’t trip.