My ugly shoes

My father hated feminists.  He was actually behind a campaign to stop a women’s studies program from launching at his university in the 1970s.  When that didn’t work, he followed up with periodic harassing letters to the head of the program.  I know this because 30 years later, she showed them to me.

My father always spoke derisively about feminists!.  Among one of the many faults of feminists, I learned at a young age, was that they wear ugly shoes.

I remember clearly when I met the first woman I knew who named herself as a feminist.  I was in my late 20s.  I couldn’t help myself, I had to look under the table, to check out her shoes.

Yep.  They were ugly.  “Ugly”, like mine.  They were the kind of shoes that you can stand in all day, at a protest, or walk in, at a march.  They were the kind of shoes that do not deform your feet or make you walk with your glutes popped out.  They were the kind of shoes that you can escape a predator in.  Or fight him in.

Me and my ugly shoes.

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