Note to the mythical Average Guy: You were wondering how it is that you get by with three pairs of shoes while your girlfriend has sixty-seven and says she needs more. It’s not necessarily a desire to dominate the closet in some domestic version of Risk; nor is it the elevation of the mundane to the status of an icon. (Well, it could be, if everything she has came from Payless except for those CFM pumps she saw on Zappos and bought with your credit card.)
What is closer to the mark, I believe, is that while you wear those old Chuck Taylors as close to 24/7 as possible, she goes through several different pairs, styles even, in a single day. Rachel corroborates:
I love taking off my shoes as much as I love shoes. I do it unconsciously: At home, at work, or at the movies. My feet, apparently, have a need to be free. You know how some people are always looking for their keys? Or their glasses? I’m always looking for my shoes. The first thing I do when I get home is take off my shoes and put on a pair of slippers or flip flops. (If my shoes are particularly binding, I might take them off in the car. I tend to have at least one or two pairs of shoes in my car at any given time.) Later, I’ll unconsciously slip out of my flip flops, get up to perform some stupid task, notice that my feet are unshod and go into my closet for another pair. This can go on for hours until at the end of the night I look around and see that I’ve left a trail of shoes around the house, some of them kicked off in mid-stride as though the person wearing them had suddenly been vaporized while heading to the kitchen.
She doesn’t say whether she drives barefoot which, incidentally, is not actually illegal unless one is barefoot up to one’s chin, as it were but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.
This is, I might add, a major reason why you need not fear the succubus: at some point she’ll change shoes, and there’s your opportunity to escape.
Addendum: This obsession, if obsession it be, does not affect Syaffolee.