Miss Sixty and the footwear of Doom.

I have to say that generally speaking, I’ve not been the type to be swayed by fashion labels making shoes; it’s a bit like asking a jeweller to make you a table. He might be an absolute genius at balancing clarity with colour but unless you want your table to have a Tiffany setting where the coasters should sit, it’s not a great idea to get them to work in a medium with which they’re unaccustomed. It’s all a bit ‘Clash of the Codes’.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve bought and still buy High Street shoes, I’m certainly not a shoe snob, well actually I am, I just hate to admit it to myself; but I just think you should stick to what you’re good at. The instant Jimmy Choo released a perfume, in my opinion, the brand was devalued and it’s the same with fashion houses that move into shoes. I get it, I really do, the nature of commerce and capitalism is all about maximising the market place; squeezing more sales from your current customers because it’s easier than finding new ones and that is why, after ten years of selling clothing, a company such as Miss Sixty would move on to selling shoes.

I bought into the brand on a few occasions, back in the day they had stand out pieces at reasonable prices; the gold foil on red shirt that I wore on a number of press shots, the pink t-shirt with the kitten photo print, so when I saw these shoes, I went against my better judgement. To me these shoes epitomised summertime, where apparently the living is easy. I know some people have an issue with white shoes but in summer the rules about white shoes don’t count, do they? You don’t really have to be a girl from Essex to wear them do you? Anyway, I thought they were cute and would be smart for a summer holiday and they went with me the first time I holidayed in Sharm el Sheik, Egypt. Needless to say, after I caught the scuba diving bug on that holiday, it was the first and last time I gave a toss about which shoes went with me to that destination. After that, my foot attire consisted entirely of black neoprene booties and flip-flops. Not sexy or cute but give you that all important smell of rubber.

Going out for dinner whilst on holiday seemed like a good opportunity to give these a run out. However, to say they rubbed would be an understatement; they chafed worse than a fibreglass vest on a jogger’s nipple. And they made my feet really, really warm. I mean you could blame the +90°c heat and high humidity but I’m happy to stick with it being the shoes' fault that my feet got so warm and encouraged blistering. You can’t blame the soreness on the heat, that all came down to the shoe and it's insistence on rubbing me like an inexperienced lover on a lady nubbin.

I’ve never worn them since, as you can tell from photos of the sole. Perhaps a cool footed lady from Essex with a somewhat fleshier foot to counteract the chafing would like these as I’m offloading them to make room for a good old fashioned pair of Hush Puppies. Unless they’ve started to make tables.