A Letter From Your Feet (Plus Poppy Barley Goes to the Sochi Olympics!)
Guys: Poppy Barley is at the Sochi Olympics! Well, on Miss Erika's feet at the Olympics, anyway. A Poppy Barley Ambassador, Erika's been a fan of Poppy Barley since we launched in late 2012, and currently owns FIVE pairs of our custom flats and boots, including The Uptown Boot in Kaki. She also leant us her narrow, elegant feet for our Spring '13 Flats Collection lookbook.
As a manager in government communications, Erika and her Poppy Barleys were able to get in on the Winter Olympics, as seen at the half pipe, above, and out and about in Sochi, below.
Before Erika left for Russia, she wrote us a little blog post--from the perspective of her feet (Erika has an awesome sense of humour). This is falls into the tough-love #PBLoveLetters category (did you know you can enter to win a free pair of boots every day until Valentine's Day with our #PBLoveLetters Instagram contest? See all the entries so far and find out how to get in on it here).
Take a read of her open foot-letter after the jump, follow her adventures on Instagram, and don't forget to show your feet some love; they have a hard life sometimes.
After several decades of an intolerable relationship, I find myself writing to you in appreciation of the recent turn of events that has brought this relationship back from the ruins.
In the early days, you subjected me to many uncomfortable environments; compressing me into a pair of skates—without socks, might I add—and forcing me to balance on a thin blade for hours. I don’t think I need to begin to explain the undesirable state of that experience. You also subjected me to numerous kinds of cleats and athletic shoes, which you would tie so tightly I thought I was going to suffocate. I could have formulated a strong case of domestic abuse given those circumstances.
However, even through these horrid conditions, I stood by you because I knew it was only a matter of time before you would start appreciating me. As the years passed, you pushed me harder and harder until we were almost at a point of no return. I am writing to you today to ensure you understand exactly where I am coming from and how grateful I have been over the past few months. The only way to be sure you understand is to have you walk a mile in your own shoes:
The day starts off comfortably, tucked under the duvet that is hugging me all over. Abruptly, the pillow of softness is ripped off and I swiftly hit the floor. Before I can even process that I am upright, you are pulling layers of clothes over me and hiding me in a pair of socks that suction to me like a pair of Spanx. The only good thing is that you made sure the socks were clean this time.
Thump, thump, thump—you drag me across the floor. I know what’s coming next; we are at the front door and I am reunited with my second home, the running shoe. Why must you tie them so tight? Do you think I am going to somehow escape? I spend the next while—what sometimes feels like an eternity—in the cold, becoming all too familiar with every snow bed, pebble and icy surface you can find.
Afterwards, without any hesitation, you rip off the layers I am finally beginning to appreciate and blast me with warm water, TLC completely disregarded. While I am still wrinkly and resembling a prune, I am shoved into stockings (I feel like a bank robber) and to top it all off, I spend the next twelve hours on my tippy toes. I find it insulting that you are focusing on the appearance of my neighbour, Mr. Calf, instead of recognizing the sheer agony I am subjected to. I would also like to point out (pun intended) that heels never fit like the ones from Cinderella. They either pinch my toes, hurt my arch or rub against my heel. You can only blame yourself for the scars, callouses, and blisters that permanently mark me—it is not me, it is you!
I was about to throw in the towel until one day after the daily prune session, when I was welcomed by what I consider my glass slipper. It wrapped itself around me perfectly. I call it “The Little Black Dress for Your Foot”. It hugged me in all the right places while adding comfort and support in the areas it needed to. I was literally jumping for joy. I learned that it was not a glass slipper, but rather the made-to-measure Classic Riding Boot by Poppy Barley.
There was still hope for us yet! The relationship building did not stop there; soon I was treated to other products made by this fairy godmother company. I got to slide into my own slipper—The Feminine Slipper—which fits as well as it is named. This past year has been the best one for us yet and will only get better when the three of us (Poppy Barley included) set off to Sochi for the Olympics Games! I am excited to meet athletes, watch sporting events and explore Russia in style and comfort.
Thanks for caring.
- Your Foot
P.S: I can't speak for Mr. Calf, but I am sure he appreciates you too!
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