Vintage piece: If the shoe fits

They say shoes are a woman’s best friend. Shoes are also gay man’s best friend. Although I’m not your stereotypical-wait-for-me-while-I-get-my-murse gay guy, I love my men. But I also have another great love: my shoes—naturally. But what happens when the shoe you find yourself falling in love with is on someone else’s foot?

They call the shoe I’ve been falling in love with Adrian, and they call the foot he’s on Ricardo. I came across Adrian one week in January when he kept messaging me on a site that I had posted my picture on about a year ago and had been using on and off ever since.

“Hey there, what’s up sexy? Where are you in the city?” read his message.

He’s hot, I thought, so why not? I checked his profile: “Happily in a relationship and happily welcome friends.” The idea repulsed me. Like many who have had their share of the dating scene and wanted to get somewhat serious, I was through looking for friends; I want real love bitch. No deal, I thought. It was just another sign that this real love would not be found online.

Two messages and a week later, I had forgotten about Adrian’s profile and decided to talk to him. I mean, he had sent me three messages. And that was the start of my obsession with the must-have shoes of the season.

Adrian turned out to be a really great guy. Our conversation was effortless, flowing from topic to topic, likes to dislikes, and the occasionally flirting, as much as there could be on MSN, of course.

“Do you live alone?” I casually asked, hoping a hot make out session after a great first date would be in order.
“Sadly, no. I live with my boyfriend, Ricardo.”

Excuse me? Boyfriend? I quickly rushed to open his profile and saw those three words staring at me: …Happily-welcome-friends.

The next day at lunch I told Amanda the news. “And after all that, he has a boyfriend. How could I be so stupid as to forget he had a boyfriend? No wonder it took him three messages to talk to me. He only got threw to me when I forgot.”

“Don’t get involved. Nip it. And nip it now,” she commented and sipped her bottle of water. I knew that was all she had to say.

Over on the west side, my friend Tina was singing a different tune. “Go for it, what have you got to lose. But don’t fall for this boy, because I’ll tell you right now: He won’t leave this Ricardo fellow for you. It never happens. I know.”

So I got to thinking: Can you ever wait around for prince charming? Could anyone ever really change their mind? Does it ever work out in the end? After all, it had only been a couple of days; I might not even like the guy.

Almost a week had passed, and I still hadn’t found one thing to justify a reason for not talking to the guy. I had to face it, I actually liked him. Is that crazy? I didn’t even know him. What I did know, was that his relationship, one that has been going on for two years and five months, was not going well at all, and the two lovers were having a difficult time admitting to one another they were just roommates. Nevertheless, I was not at ease. Our conversations finally had some sexual innuendos added into them. But what would happen if we met? Was I ready to be the other woman? Could I be the other woman? Could I try on the shoe and not buy it?

They say you can be madly in love with a man you’ve never talked to. You will assume all their personality traits, become jealous or have your days ruined even though he doesn’t know you. He can float from perfect to player to prick 10 times a day and you have never met. And with each transition, you will go crazy justifying his actions, or words at that.

That Sunday was my company’s annual employee get-together. The setting was a chic downtown lounge with all the right music, all the right food, and all the right fashion. I was no exception. It was the night I was meeting Adrian, and I was dressed to impress.

Tina, in her hot pink pumps, gave me one last piece of advice as I grabbed my coat. “If you do it, do it well. Because you never know.” She was drunk, but she was right. If I didn’t take my chance and try it on now, I might never see the shoe again.

Later that night, I was face to face with myself in his building’s buzzer directory, waiting for him to meet me in the lobby, liked we planned. And there we was, Adrian—the Adrian—like I had planned.

After spending a night out drinking hot chocolate, and walking the streets of downtown Toronto, he asked me if I wanted to see the view of the city from the roof of his apartment building. It was a breath-taking view, an emotional peak, and a realization low. The problem now was that I actually knew the man whose actions I had been justifying.


With him standing right in front of me, and the city all around me, I couldn’t help but think his boyfriend was three stories under me. I realized I couldn’t be the one who he cheated on his boyfriend with. I couldn’t be the one-night stand. Online, Adrian was everything I thought I wanted. In person, he was even more. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the mistress in our relationship; I would rather be the friend instead. So it was settled. As a grabbed a taxi at two in the morning and looked back into downtown Toronto, I had done the right thing. I had returned the shoe to its owner and saved myself from emotional debt.

The next day, I had a nice, long chat with Adrian. Even though I got rave reviews for my g-rated performance from the previous night, I knew it was best that we remained friends, for the time being. Adrian, his boyfriend Ricardo, and I.

And, in the end, if the shoe doesn’t fit, shut the fuck up, and walk on—you’ll eventually find your size.