Remember those white go-go boots in the 60's? Don't know if I ever got them, or if I wanted them so much I just imagine I had them. They were so cool that Yoko Ono wore them, she who kicked the butt of the greatest rock band in the world.
Even demure, less threatening girls wore white boots well. These girls look like they could lunch at the country club, then kick it with the Rockettes. Almost 50 years later, I still think they look great.
Of course, the Queen of Boots was Nancy Sinatra. She stomped all over people in her boots and made you glad she was doing it. You just knew whoever Nancy was walking on deserved it and was running after her, begging her to come back. But Nancy was fed up. She had a whole girl gang in boots to back her up, and she said, "Are you ready, boots? Start walking!"
See for yourself:
Less thrillingly, in high school I had a pair of chukka boots. They were okay. By then white boots and Nancy Sinatra were as out of style as granny dresses and vinyl skirts, and Mick Jagger was singing "Angie." Chukka boots were comfortable and looked okay with jeans. But their name said it all. Chukka. Yucka. With their rubbery soles and top stitching, they kind of made you want to go home after school, write in your diary, and cry.
Finally in college I discovered the thrill of boots for myself, when my parents gave me a pair of Dingos along with giant shoe trees to keep them in shape. I can still picture them standing in my tiny dorm closet. I was as much in love with those boots as I was with Larry, a blond athletic boy from Walker Hall. My boots looked good with jeans tucked in, with jeans tucked out, or with dresses. Wearing them as I walked to class and around peaceful Normal, Illinois, I felt that anything could happen. A lot of beer drinking (and Larry) contributed to that feeling, but still ... there was magic in those boots.
Many boots have come my way since then. One standout pair that I wish I still had was tall lace-ups worn by a cowgirl at rodeos in the 20s. I bought them for a mystery party where I played a suspicious female pilot from that era. Again, boots worked their magic. I may have been in my 40s and in a suburb of Cleveland, but I felt like I could ride a wild mustang, then get away with murder and fly away.
When I moved to Arizona, I brought only what fit in my small car. There wasn't time to dilly dally, so quick decisions were made about boots. Four pairs came along: basic black; a pair of slouchy, shiny brown high heels; the red pair with the buckles; and brown cowgirl (the black embroidered cowgirl boots and bronze high heels snuck in as stow-aways). Saying goodbye to people made me not care about the boots I left behind.
And, as it turns out, in the Southwest I've acquired some new boots. One just may be my favorite pair ever ... they have a lot of magic. Then, this weekend I came across these boots, when all I was doing was shopping for candles. I immediately sensed their power and brought them home.
In these boots, I think just about anything could happen.
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