My two favourite pairs of shoes remind me of my new favourite word: kluge. Definition: (klooj) noun slang; a clumsy or inelegant solution to a problem.
In his new book on the same subject, Kluge: The Haphazard Construction of the Human Mind, psychology professor Gary Marcus explores the idea that our brains, while efficient in some ways, are ultimately clumsy in their reasoning - the functional but inefficient result of leftover evolutionary tics.
So perhaps it is a faulty thought process that led me to connect the idea behind this popular new science book to my shoes. (Bear with me: This is the Style section, after all.) The first pair in question actually is a kluge. The second belongs to me as the result of one. Allow me to explain.
A couple of weeks ago, I walked into an expensive shoe shop in downtown Toronto. I was wearing my favourite summer shoes: an open-toed pair of green woven leather low-heeled pumps. I adored them from the moment I saw them. Problem was, they didn't quite fit. The right shoe was perfect, but the left was loose, a result of my uneven foot size (I have the same problem with bras, but that's another column).
Sucker that I am, I bought the shoes anyway. I figured that I'd stick some Kleenex in the toe, or put double-sided tape on the instep or, even more irrationally, that my left foot would magically grow a half-inch to match my right. The truth is, the shoes were so pretty I tricked myself into thinking the problem would somehow remedy itself. It didn't, and I was left with a pair of handsome, but ill-fitting, green woven leather pumps. I needed a quick fix.
"Do you have one of those leather stick-in thingies for my shoe?" I asked the kind-faced salesman in an expensive suit. He nodded and disappeared into the backroom to find the materials for my kluge.
While he was gone, I decided to browse around a bit. I went into a mild dissociative trance, and when I came to I was nuzzling a pair of black Christian Louboutin closed-toe stilettos.
My reasoning went like this: I want these shoes, these shoes are too expensive. Wait - I have a $50 gift card for this shop. Therefore, I would (almost) be saving money, rather than spending it, if I were to buy these shoes. Really, I can't afford not to buy these shoes. These shoes are a steal and I would be crazy not to buy them. Voila Sound economic decision made.
When the shopkeeper returned with the leather toe thingy, I asked him to bring me a pair of the Louboutins in size 8.
My kluge reasoning is articulately deconstructed by Marcus: "No matter what we humans think about, we tend to pay more attention to stuff that fits in with our beliefs than stuff that might challenge them," he writes in the chapter entitled Belief. "Psychologists call this 'confirmation bias.' When we have embraced a theory, large or small, we tend to be better at noticing evidence that supports it than evidence that might run counter to it."
Interestingly, while my kluge brain led to some - if I do say so myself - gorgeous purchases, a much different look that could well be called "kluge style" is taking over the streets. Clumsily constructed outfits of ratty and half-broken pieces are the look of the moment among haute bourgeois urban fashion hounds.
On a recent trip to London, I was amazed to see that the style had taken over Soho. Rich girls dressed as alley cats, sporting dirty black hair and Converse All Stars held together with duct tape, screeched by the half-dozen into the tiny bathroom stalls at the Groucho Club. They had taken over the bar for singer Lily Allen's birthday party - but their look was a tribute to that other Brit songstress and human kluge: Amy Winehouse. (Really, who - or what, for the matter - better embodies computer guru Jackson Granholm's definition of the word? "An ill-assorted collection of poorly matching parts, forming a distressing whole.") The scene was a rough sea of smudged eyeliner, unbrushed hair, battered flats and dirty, skinny jeans. They looked like hell. They looked like heaven. They looked hot.
It all reminded me of a recent interview I came across with French actress/model/designer Lou Dillon (who happens to be the daughter of fashion plate Jane Birkin) in which she described her style credo as "something a bit broken, something a bit off. I never comb my hair or make anything pretty. When people look too beautiful, it's too easy." Behold the self-conscious kluge.
And so my attention turns again to my shoes. My right woven leather pump still doesn't fit properly, although it is better than it was before - a kluge if there ever was one. My shiny new Louboutins, on the other hand, are neither broken nor inefficient - but they will look great with unbrushed hair and dirty, skinny jeans.
Join the Discussion: