As we were leaving the office, she looked down at my sage green suede effect Mary Janes and declared loudly:
"Those aren't Mum Shoes!"
I've written before about the mum-prefix, but it's been bothering me ever since this shoe comment was made. I am a mother. These are my shoes. If those aren't 'mum shoes', then what are? And, interestingly enough, the woman who made this pronouncement has 3 children herself, and a degree from Oxford, and she wasn't in work dressed for childcare either. What I'm trying to say is, she's obviously bright, she's a mother too, she hadn't arrived in a professional environment dressed in a tracksuit, yet still the pernicious expectation exists - even in mothers - that mum = dowdy. Yet this was one of the things I got stuck on in my 'show everyone you're coping' period - do your hair, wear proper shoes, good forbid you should appear (and I hate myself for saying it) - mumsy. This bullshit hides in all of us; these pernicious myths abide.
Pish, I say. Pish.
And, just in case you are interested - pony skin leopard print ballet flats are today's shoe of choice.
|These are also mum-shoes.|