“You need some decent shoes,” she said in that tone of voice I’ve learned not to argue with.
No use pointing out that the wingtips I’d been wearing for months had only some superficial nicks. And who would notice that one sole was melted from standing atop an eight-burner industrial stovetop to wash down the stainless-steel hood above it.
“And get some shirts too while you’re at it,” she went on. “I’m going to burn those nasty pants.” Not very subtle advice. Not the dress-for-success tips a man who’s moving up in the world wants to hear. After all, I’m working in a position that requires me to wear a tie and worry over the creases of my suit trousers.
I’ll admit that the kitchen dress code was easy to comply with: t-shirts, white sox, black pants and black shoes. The shoes were a trifle irksome, though. One pair admittedly looked a little worse for wear — and leaked, especially when you stood at an industrial dishwasher for eight hours or when you waded around in a pool of duck fat that you had just helped to spill. (I threw the socks away before I even entered the house, and the shoes never smelled, or as you can see, looked the same. I had to polish them every day before going to work.)
Why spring for an expensive pair of chef shoes, I wondered. Instead I switched to my venerable dress wingtips, witnesses to any number of funerals and weddings. In a way it was a gesture of optimism. After all, I might not get my money’s worth out of those pricey chef shoes. And that might just be the case since I’m once again in front of a keyboard rather than a tilt skillet or a steam jacket. But do I really need a fancy pair of shoes to write press releases and content for Quaintance-Weaver’s Web site? Marketing involves burnishing an image, not shiny shoes, I told myself. Putting heads in beds and butts in bistros is not about footwear, it’s about strategy.
What’s more, I’ve never done this sort of thing before, and I might be back washing dishes and firing green beans, and then why would I need shiny new oxfords?
But as soon as I wedged my feet into my new shoes and laced them up, I knew that Anne was right. If the shoe fits, wear it. And my new pair of shoes fits me to a T.
