Mum Shoes

I had a day at work last week, just as a general getting-back-into-the-swing-of-things, find-out-what's-what type of business. I was leaving the office to have lunch with a colleague and a newer member of staff who has popped up while I've been off on maternity leave. The newer member of staff is not familiar that I have somewhat of a ...footwear reputation at work (indeed, I was greeted by one of the senior practitioners with the cry of 'I look forward to you and your shoes coming back to work'. My mother always told me I had too many shoes and I would never get to wear them all, so bloody minded swine that I am, I do try and wear them all. And they're useful if you feel you need to bring out an accent colour, and - I continue to assert - the wearing of a heel instantly lowers your BMI. Anyway, enough shoe justification).

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!"

Au contraire.

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.