I get a kick out of women's shoes--the protrusions and spikes, the high fashion toes like ship's prows and the platforms like personal podiums. Bergstein's debut book on how shoes define women offers the reader a celebrity-infused history of our relationship to footwear. The diversity of shoes reflects something more than function and personal style; our choices are inextricably laced with desire and identified with social currency.
Bergstein begins with Farragamo's humble beginnings in a small Italian village in 1907 and ends with the contemporary fascination with celebrities and the desire to emulate their expensive branding styles, specifically Sarah Jessica-Parker (aka Carrie Bradshaw) from the popular show, Sex and the City. The hit show put Manolo Blahnik on the map (Minolos), a high end designer whose eponymous shoes were referred to by Carrie Bradshaw as "Hello, lover" in one episode.
A hefty section is devoted to the illustrious ruby slippers, including anecdotes on Judy Garland's career and her difficulty fitting in with the Hollywood definition of beauty, as well as the relatable themes of The Wizard of Oz during the Great Depression. Much of the history portrayed on the ruby slippers is common knowledge or easily accessible on Wikipedia. There isn't much that Bergstein wrote about this topic that I didn't already know.
"It Girls" like Marilyn Munroe, Audrey Hepburn, and Lana Turner, to the Olsen twins, Jessica-Parker and Naomi Campbell (and more) suffuse the pages with their soles. Peruvian painter, Alberto Vargas and his famous pin-up girls, or "Varga girls," also had a huge influence on the shoes women desired during the mid-twentieth century.
The ascendency of Jane Fonda's 1980's workout put trainers on the map, like Reebok, and later, Nike. Chuck Taylors and iconic Doc Martens are covered in some detail, also. Shoes commandeered by rock stars and grunge musicians; fashion models; movie stars; and even Wonder Woman illustrate the social agency of the wannabe culture that imitates. Boots, ballet shoes, sandals, stilettos, pumps, sling-backs, platforms, clogs, crocs--and even the World War II flat, practical shoe style adorn the pages.
Bergstein writes in an affable style, creating an accessible narrative out of a chronological history. However, I thought this was going to have more of an anthropological context than it ultimately offered. Of course, celebrities love their Louboutins, the glossy red-soled status symbol of the new woman, and consumers have a rabid attraction to every shoe selected by Carrie Bradshaw. But, after a while, I tired of reading about celebrities.
Although Bergstein, to her credit, talked about everything from Betty Friedan's Feminine Mystique to the disco culture and women's lib, some of these anecdotes strained to fit in with her central narrative. Sometimes she would veer off, i.e. talking about Judy Garland's weight problem or John Travolta's swagger, The Wizard of Oz appealing to a humble platitude of home and family, tidbits that are already well known or digressing from the premise. By the time the book was done, I was up to my thighs in Sex and the City, and how a pedestrian TV show became a touchstone for consumers' feet.