A Comfortable Obsession

B AND I WERE SAT SIDE-BY-SIDE,

in stiff steel designer chairs, staring at the walls in the dimly lit corridor of the clinic. We’d been waiting to see the specialist for over an hour.

“Green alpine marble,” I said B gave me a sideways glance but didn’t interrupt, so I continued. “The walls,” I said, “don’t they look like the marble we saw at the Barcelona Pavilion yesterday?”

“Maybe… she said. “But I just like how the marble looks like it’s covered in lichen, all mottled and weathered. It’s like the stone is alive.”

I’d always loved the way modernism looked and had always been charmed by the idea of living a life in elegant minimalism, surrounded by steel, glass and stone. But as I wriggled in my seat, I wondered how comfortable a life like that really was. It was the kind of lifestyle where everything looked good, but wasn’t it just as important that it felt good too?

"B, DO YOU THINK I'M CRAZY?" I SAID.

B gave me a gentle non-judgemental smile and patted me on the arm.

“What if the problem is only a problem for other people?” I said.

“I presume you mean George?” B said. “Well, he was the one that said I had a condition, like it was a bad thing. He was the one who insisted I do something about it. I can’t help feeling, he’s made it into something bigger than it is. If I’ve found something that works for me, shouldn’t he be the one that should learn to adapt?” I said.

"DR WELT WILL SEE YOU NOW, ROOM 39, THIRD FLOOR," SAID THE RECEPTIONIST, AS SHE POINTED TO THE BACK STAIRS.

The room was stripped back, sparse. The bright lights felt accusatory. A medical bed was in the corner, there was an open laptop, and a see-through box on the floor.

“It’s a podoscope,” Dr Welt announced as she entered the room, “used to analyse and measure feet. “I’ve read your notes, but I think it’s best if we start with a full examination. Could you undress and take your shoes off please?”

I admired her style. A supple leather top with leather sleeves, a sheer knit, double-layer asymmetrical skirt, And the shoes were sculpted, gothic with a curved heel and corsetry-style laces.

“ARE THEY COMFORTABLE?” I ASKED,
AS I POINTED TO HER FEET.

“EXTREMELY.” DR WELT SAID.

She was a foot doctor, she explained. With a PhD in fashion and obsession, and a New York Times bestseller on co-dependent shoe relationships.

I undressed, taking off my oversized burgundy sweatshirt, then my tartan dress, and laid them on the bed. I pulled at my shoes, loosening them, unlacing them but felt a heat rising on the back of my neck, as if my body was in revolt.

My calves stiffened, as my feet moulded themselves into the leather uppers and my toes curled into the reassuring foam of the memory insole. I ran my fingers slowly over the eyelets from top to toe, fingered the embossed logo on the tongue, and gently stroked the shapely, ribbed and moulded sole.