When a lady has size 42 feet and shops in China
By Emily Ford |
June 25, 2012, Monday
|
Print Edition
Print Edition
IT is Sunday afternoon and my Chinese teacher Meimei is just leaving my house when she stops suddenly. She is staring at a pair of trainers by the door. It soon becomes apparent that she is not admiring adidas' latest air-cushioned technology but rather that she can't believe how big they are.
"Are they yours? They can't be yours," she says in disbelief. "Look at them! They look like boats!"
I have to agree with Meimei, but even so it doesn't make me feel any better. My size 42 feet have caused me problems my entire life, being large even by British standards. For years I forced them into contraptions too small, too tight, too high or simply too ugly, until I realized my footwear was never destined to be dainty and I might as well accept it. As a result, shoe shopping ranks low on my list of pleasurable activities and I only do it when there is absolutely no alternative.
In China, where tiny feet are considered so beautiful that until 100 years ago women would put themselves through extraordinary pain to achieve the perfect seven centimeter extremity, my feet are positively monstrous.
"Monstrous" feet
A friend cursed with similarly oversized feet who grew up in Japan tells me that by the age of 11 she had to buy men's shoes, much to the amusement of her relatives. "It's not fun," she says. "But you get used to it."
By the time June arrives there is nothing for it. Shanghai's incessant rain has destroyed every pair of shoes I own. "Sod it," I think optimistically. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Shanghai is the secret home of big shoes. It would be churlish not to find out."
Shops in the city are arranged, with infallible Chinese logic, by type. There is a music street, a washing machine street, a plant street, a baby street, and another whose products I can't immediately identify but which certainly appear to adhere to a common theme. "So they can keep an eye on who's selling what next door. Very smart," I think.
I decide to visit a shoe street that I have walked past before. After pacing up and down for several minutes, I choose the shop that looks like it might best cater for ungainly Western toes and beckon the sales assistant to one side. "What's the biggest size you go up to?" I ask her in a conspiratorial whisper. "Men's or women's."
"The biggest we have is 38," she says. She looks down and her face falls into an ill-disguised smirk as she realizes what she is dealing with. "Why, what size do you need?"
"42," I say defensively, under my breath. The assistant bursts out laughing. "I'm afraid we don't have any that big," she says, trying to contain herself. "You're going to have problems finding shoes that big anywhere."
By now the other customers have stopped their shopping and are peering over to see what all the fuss is about. I have a vision of myself as a giant in the Urban Planning Museum, trampling over little Shanghai with my vast British appendages. Buildings shudder at my approach like that gorilla taking out New York in King Kong, The Movie. I feel my feet retreating into their boat-like houses in embarrassment.
One thing I have learned about China, however, is that if you are willing to pay for it, someone will find a way to sell it to you. I go next door, where a little man is nailing leather soles together. "I really need to buy some shoes," I say. "Very big shoes. Huge."
He looks at my feet and my desperate face and smiles pityingly. "Let me see what I can do," he says.
"Are they yours? They can't be yours," she says in disbelief. "Look at them! They look like boats!"
I have to agree with Meimei, but even so it doesn't make me feel any better. My size 42 feet have caused me problems my entire life, being large even by British standards. For years I forced them into contraptions too small, too tight, too high or simply too ugly, until I realized my footwear was never destined to be dainty and I might as well accept it. As a result, shoe shopping ranks low on my list of pleasurable activities and I only do it when there is absolutely no alternative.
In China, where tiny feet are considered so beautiful that until 100 years ago women would put themselves through extraordinary pain to achieve the perfect seven centimeter extremity, my feet are positively monstrous.
"Monstrous" feet
A friend cursed with similarly oversized feet who grew up in Japan tells me that by the age of 11 she had to buy men's shoes, much to the amusement of her relatives. "It's not fun," she says. "But you get used to it."
By the time June arrives there is nothing for it. Shanghai's incessant rain has destroyed every pair of shoes I own. "Sod it," I think optimistically. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Shanghai is the secret home of big shoes. It would be churlish not to find out."
Shops in the city are arranged, with infallible Chinese logic, by type. There is a music street, a washing machine street, a plant street, a baby street, and another whose products I can't immediately identify but which certainly appear to adhere to a common theme. "So they can keep an eye on who's selling what next door. Very smart," I think.
I decide to visit a shoe street that I have walked past before. After pacing up and down for several minutes, I choose the shop that looks like it might best cater for ungainly Western toes and beckon the sales assistant to one side. "What's the biggest size you go up to?" I ask her in a conspiratorial whisper. "Men's or women's."
"The biggest we have is 38," she says. She looks down and her face falls into an ill-disguised smirk as she realizes what she is dealing with. "Why, what size do you need?"
"42," I say defensively, under my breath. The assistant bursts out laughing. "I'm afraid we don't have any that big," she says, trying to contain herself. "You're going to have problems finding shoes that big anywhere."
By now the other customers have stopped their shopping and are peering over to see what all the fuss is about. I have a vision of myself as a giant in the Urban Planning Museum, trampling over little Shanghai with my vast British appendages. Buildings shudder at my approach like that gorilla taking out New York in King Kong, The Movie. I feel my feet retreating into their boat-like houses in embarrassment.
One thing I have learned about China, however, is that if you are willing to pay for it, someone will find a way to sell it to you. I go next door, where a little man is nailing leather soles together. "I really need to buy some shoes," I say. "Very big shoes. Huge."
He looks at my feet and my desperate face and smiles pityingly. "Let me see what I can do," he says.
- About Us
- |
- Terms of Use
- |
-
RSS - |
- Privacy Policy
- |
- Contact Us
- |
- Shanghai Call Center: 962288
- |
- Tip-off hotline: 52920043
- 沪ICP证：沪ICP备05050403号-1
- |
- 互联网新闻信息服务许可证：31120180004
- |
- 网络视听许可证：0909346
- |
- 广播电视节目制作许可证：沪字第354号
- |
- 增值电信业务经营许可证：沪B2-20120012
Copyright © 1999- Shanghai Daily. All rights reserved.Preferably viewed with Internet Explorer 8 or newer browsers.
