I used to be a bargain hunter. I found it hard to buy something for a certain price, when I was almost sure I could get the same thing or at least something similar for about half that price. This habit seemed to be great for my bank account- not for my closet though-, but after several style mishaps I found that not only wasn’t it great for my closet but in the long run, the habit wasn’t great for my bank account. Of all the embarrassing moments my cheapness got me, the most memorable is my experience with a pair of very cheap shoes.
I needed a pair of red shoes to go with the bridesmaid’s dress of a friend. Since red wasn’t my favourite colour, I didn’t feel the need to spend a lot of money on the shoes, reasoning that I would only wear the shoes on that day. I scoured the streets of Balogun the week before, looking for the cheapest red shoes I could find that fit the bride’s request.
I finally found one that was supposed to be made by Zara but the font used to spell out the label name was in italics and a small font, so my guess was it was probably made somewhere within the borders of Nigeria. I didn’t care, nobody would notice it once my feet were in the shoes, anyway.
Wedding day came around and all was fine, until it was time for the bridesmaids to dance into the reception before the bride. I was halfway down the aisle of the hall, when I lost my balance and almost crashed into the girl in front of me. The bottom of one of the shoes had come off heels and all, and I was left with just straps to cover one foot. I had to bend down retrieve the sole that had come off, and remove the other shoe in the middle of the hall. My friends tried to come to my rescue, but they couldn’t do any other thing than mutter pele and draw even more attention to my situation. I walked bare foot to a corner with my cheap shoes in my hand and waited for a friend to bring a pair of slippers for me.