I generally try to look nice. Hair stays brushed and clothing neat, chosen to suit the events of the day. Sometimes, though, there is a dissonance. It is my shoes.
After the foot I broke came out of its cast, my doctor instructed me to acquire good quality running shoes, which I did forthwith. I had never had a pair professionally fitted before, and it was a revelation. Not only did my feet not hurt, neither did my knees or hips, and I had simply come to take for granted that I had to tolerate that. I tried to at least get black running shoes, but given the odd size I wear that was a lost cause. I did not care. I wore those running shoes under suits in court. I have worn them to a bar mitzvah. I have worn them under black velvet pants at a dressy occasion, and will do so again. I do know how to acoutre myself for elegance, but I have my priorities, and a lack of pain is pretty high on my list. The shoes that make that possible are decidedly the wrong side of elegant, so I have decided that for me, elegance stops at the ankles.