It’s 8:15 on Boxing Day. And this is the scene at Saks in Bal Harbour Shops. Upon walking into the store, a man at the door asks your preference: Shoes or handbags. Once you choose, he sends you in the direction of your vice. And the rest is chaos. For me, the madness began when he asked me shoes or handbags. I’ve never been asked this question before. Can’t I be both? I mean, really, how do you choose? Turns out, when the heat is on, I’m a shoe girl. After encountering this (pictured above), I encountered this (pictured below):
This is what it looks like when $750 shoes marked down to $500 are an additional 50 percent off. With prices like these, the ability for the brain to process cute and ugly becomes blurred, and you just start grabbing for your size, or, more realistically, any size. And thus shoe-pocalypse is born. The only things left on the racks are the duds not even God deems worthy enough to come back to the Promise Land.
With nothing left on the racks, the only way to find a pair of shoes is to scrounge around for castoffs from people who might be your size. You start shoe profiling the people around you. She looks like a 7, you think. “What size are you,” you ask, casually? “Are these yours?” You say, as you scoop up a pair of Brian Atwoods sitting off to the side. But beware. You will get your fingers smacked if you touch a pair of $1,100 Louboutins marked down 30 percent that clearly aren’t going home with you. I know, it happened to me.
Up next, the whole ordeal of trying to get Andy, the shoe fetcher, to find the mate to your shoe in a sea of 500 other women who are trying to do the exact same thing. Insanity, yes, but this is what we women will do for a $200 pair of Choos.
This was my first encounter of Saks Boxing Day sale. Next year, should I choose to re-subject myself to this carnage, I’ll bring a helmet, baton and shield. Boxing Day, by the way, isn’t called that because it’s the day you drag all your empty boxes from Christmas to the curb for the garbage man to pick up, it’s called Boxing Day because back in times when people were nice to each other, the wealthy would give boxes containing gifts to their servants. Today, Saks was lord of the manner and we were the help. And our boxes were filled with shoes. Glorious designer shoes. But the upper echelon managed to throw in a “Hunger Games” element with their little gift. And we had to fight each other to the death to secure shoe victory.
I consider myself Katniss. To this victor went these spoils. And then I booked it out of there like my own district was on fire.
Just call me the Mocking Jay.