You’d have to be on bath salts not to realize that the Isabel Marant sneaker wedge has spawned a fanatic craze that can only be described as “Kate Spade backpack-like,” or “Furby-like.” Every girl I’ve ever met and even some that I haven’t, seem be stomping around in these things or their cheaper, knock-offier step-sisters which are springing up in stores across the globe as we speak. Like a weed. The world is not a safe place in the era of the wedge sneaker. Even my skin is responding negatively to the hostile environment that they’re creating. You should see my post-blot blotting papers recently. So anyways, like I always do when I’m having feelings, I wrote a poem about it and I feel a lot better. Hopefully you will understand and support my cause.
The Ballad of The Unwanted Wedge
What can I say when speaking isn’t enough to begin with?
Must I scream how I feel?
YOU HAUNT ME.
You haunt me still.
Isabel, ma belle, why did you have to fuck everything up for everyone?
Fuck easy to wear.
Have you not wreaked enough havoc on my world? You’re an ugly child. You’re a pest. I no longer want you. Do you not understand? There was a time and a place. Now, your presence is hurtful. I am crying. Not actually, but symbolically.
Must I have waking nightmares of closets filled with nothing but you? Endless miles of closet space, walls of shelves lined with the same pair of sneaker wedges.
Admit I will, I thought you were chic once but I’ve grown up since then. The world needs to grow up. Let us grow. Let us go.
A trend is not a trend is not a trend and this one will send me over the edge.
You kill me, sneaker wedge.
I am dead.
Even in death, I hate you.
But actually, I win because when the world ends in December, we will not look back on you fondly. We will be sad about how ugly you were. So yeah, I totally win.