Shoe Shopping

There I was, standing in front of Loehmann’s department store on Sixth Avenue at 16th Street, waiting for Braden Chapman to arrive following his morning shift at Grey Dog. A few minutes behind schedule, he rounded the corner, wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a black Ramones t-shirt that did little to conceal his expanding waste line. He short brown hair and pale complexion were in sharp contrast to the last time that I had seen Braden, when he had been covered in feathers and sequins in order to evoke the essence of his alter ego, drag sensation Mimi Imfurst.

“Honey, you need to learn to be fashionably late,” he said, as he leaned in to give me a hug.

And so we entered Loehmann’s, heaven for a drag queen according to Chapman, because everything is both designer and cheap. After looking at bedazzled sunglasses for 20 minutes or so, we found our way to the shoe section, and suddenly Chapman’s eyes lit up.

“Baby, let’s try some on,” he said, as he dragged me towards the shelves that were lined with hundreds of pairs of women’s shoes.

Try them on, I thought? Absolutely not. What saleswoman would allow a man as large as Braden Chapman to try on a pair of heels?

As he walked me up and down the aisles, he told me all about the dos and don’ts that every proper queen must follow. For example, queens should never wear sandals because they accentuate larger feet.

“Only some little screaming twink could manage to wear these,” he said, pointing to a pair of Egyptian-themed sandals that looked as though they had been taken straight from Elizabeth Taylor’s Cleopatra-era closet.

He then turned his attention to my feet and said, “Oh dear, you certainly can’t pull off sandals, you’ve got bulky man logs.”

Upon seeing the ballet flats, he rushed by because according to Chapman, they are quite taboo in the world of a drag queen. From what I gathered, if it doesn’t have a heel, it isn’t worth wearing.

Finally we arrived at a table covered with pumps, which he said were the perfect accessory to any queen’s wardrobe. He reminded me that as a drag queen, my feet would be wider than the “anorexic twats” who would normally purchase the shoes that were being displayed in front of me, and I would need to find a wider pump in order to remain comfortable.

“Trust me, after singing your ass off in heels all night long, you’ll thank me for that recommendation.”

Just then…

“Would you like to try them on?” asked the saleswoman.

“Excuse me?” I responded, probably looking absolutely appalled that she would dare assume that I wanted to try on a pair of woman’s shoes.

“I said, would you like to try your shoes on?”

I stared back, unsure how to respond. Luckily Braden saved me by butting in and asking the woman if she had a pair of purple satin Mary Jane pumps. Without batting an eyelash, she took the shoe from Braden and wandered off to find him a 12-wide. He must have noticed my confusion.

“Oh please, I know that you can’t be a prude! Don’t look so surprised.”

“That’s why I’m confused,” I responded. “That didn’t even faze her.”

“Listen to me doll, first of all you’re in New York fucking City. And second, you’re in Chelsea, the hub of American faggotry. For Christ’s sake, that woman has probably helped men pick out everything from heels to panties.”

And after a short pause… “Which reminds me, I need to find a few new bras. Don’t want the titties to get all saggy.”

An hour later we left Loehmann’s, with three pairs of shoes and a set of push up bras, as well as some of the gaudiest pairs of sunglasses that I have ever seen. Apparently gaudy is good in drag land. Who knew?

During the short walk to our apartment building, Braden first noticed my walk.

“Honey, do you really call yourself a homo?” he asked. “You look like the abominable snowman when you walk.”

I laughed, feeling severely awkward and not knowing how to respond. Luckily, our landlady was sitting on the stoop in front of our building and immediately engaged us in a conversation about our mutual dislike for the family in 3C; their children tend to be screaming at all hours of the day, especially during the key hangover hours. Upon reaching the second floor, Braden bid me farewell, but first gave me my first bit of homework: try walking for an hour in women’s shoes in order to improve my posture. I joked and probably blushed, but seconds later he handed me a pair of black patent leather, lace-up shoes. I shivered with fear.

Next week’s assignment: actually try them on.