Raw, adjective: 5. crude in quality or character; not tempered or refined by art or taste


PET PEEVE: The Wedge.

So you're a forty-something suburban momma from the Central Valley. In anticipation of the big day trip to the City, you carefully select your most stylish and FABULOUS (read: sparkly, overmatched and uncouth) outfit to wow all those urban folks. You put on the push-up bra, rock the too-tight Old Navy v-neck along with some unfortunate khaki capris, throw on a few dated bangle bracelets and poof your hair up as much as possible. And then, the real kicker: you finish off the outfit with those hott new wedge espadrilles you just bought the other day. The ones with the lace-up thingie around the ankle. The ones with the 4-inch heel made entirely of fucking CORK. You squirt on a little overpriced heavy perfume, give the hair a fluff and take one last look in the mirror: DE-ammn, do you look good.

You load the fam into the SUV and roll up the interstate toward the Wharf. After sitting in traffic on the Embarcadero for six hours like all the other dumb nuts who drive in on sunny weekend afternoons, you finally park at some overpriced lot down by Pier 39, unload the kids and head off toward Alcatraz and the Hard Rock Cafe. Five minutes on, hobbling along the cobblestones, you realize you are a FUCKING IDIOT FOR WEARING THE GODDAMN WEDGES. And you spend the rest of the day trip bitching about how much your feet hurt in the ugliest shoes ever created.

I am sorry, I don't know what the deal is, but all of a sudden the Powers That Be have decided that ugly-ass cork-heeled wedge espadrilles are the way to go this summer, and I just have to say: NO. These are wrong. WRONG. So wrong they make my eyes hurt. Seriously, ladies. No one wears these well. They're cheap and ugly. They make you look like a) one of the prostitutes who hangs out on the corner of Larkin and Pine at 5 am, and b) like a fool when you're trying to stumble up a 45 degree hill on your frickin wedges. I don't care if you're 12 or 57; they don't look good, they don't walk well, and you look ridiculous. Unless you're Annette Funicello and it's 1959 on the beach, it's not working for you. Add the little ballerina lace-up things and you might as well just throw in the towel, 'cause it's over, sister.

The ads in this morning's paper had these things all over the place. Seriously? I mean, really?!?? People. Don't do it. Wear a nice little Audrey Hepburn ballet flat. Wear a classy peep-toe heel, a la Bettie Page. But just don't wear the goddamned wedges. Please. For the sake of us all. And especially your children.

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