I have never been known for my sartorial splendor. I’m a jeans and t-shirts gal, and, even then, I’m none too stylish. Working at home as I do, you might even say that I sometimes err too much on the side of comfort. In fact, it might be said that I could be heading straight for frumpy if I’m not too careful.

One issue is that I don’t like to spend too much money on clothing that is going to be outdated in six months, or that I’m only going to immediately spill coffee on, or that unbeknownst to me is going to make me look like “mutton in lamb’s clothing.”

Also, I have discovered that through some trickery of dressing room mirrors and enthusiastic salespeople, I often purchase clothing that looks absolutely amazing on me when I try it on at the department store, but when I put it on at home and pose before my non-magical bedroom mirror, makes me look absolutely horrible.

Understandably, I am now clothes-shopping adverse — or at least I was until I visited Bergen, Norway, saw my first pair of Ilse Jacobsen rain boots, and was overtaken by some type of rain boot madness.

Bergen is a beautiful city with a slight rain problem, especially in the fall. It rained every day I was there, and while I stumbled around in my hiking shoes, black rain pants, and bright blue rain shell, the women of Bergen breezed between the raindrops protected only by umbrellas and the most AMAZING rain boots. They may have been vulcanized rubber, but these boots were sexy. The women of Bergen wore them with jeans and leggings and dresses and itty-bitty skirts. While I looked bedraggled and damp, they looked chic and beautiful. And dry.

I had to have these boots.

I imagined myself at home, running errands in the rain, looking chic and dry while standing in line at the grocery store, pretending I didn’t see the stares of the other women around me, all of whom were wondering, “How does she look so chic and dry? And where did she get those boots?”

On our next-to-last day in Bergen, the husband and I set off in search of the boots. I was surprised to discover they came in a variety of colors: blue, white, yellow, green, pink, red. I thought about playing it safe and buying the black, but I’m a sucker for red. Still, to be sure I tried the black pair on, then the red. I repeated this cycle several times. I walked back and forth between the store mirrors, feeling myself becoming more chic with each stride. I was thrilled with how sexy I looked in the boots, especially the red ones. I told myself that it was time to end the frumpiness, to break free of always buying black because it goes with everything. The husband and the salesperson liked the red boots best. The red boots won.

On the plane ride home, I began to worry about the boots. I recalled my past fashion mistakes. God, there were so many. I remembered that the mirrors at home weren’t magical, and that I’d probably be revealed as a middle-aged woman wearing boots that were far too young for her. I worried that the red was too red. I worried that they really weren’t as beautiful as I thought they were, that they were nothing but ordinary, utilitarian rain boots.

I was so sure that I had made a mistake in buying the boots that it wasn’t until a week after my return home that I took the boots out of their box and tried them on with my skinny jeans. I held my breath and stepped in front of the mirror.

Oh my God, I thought to myself. I can’t wait for it to rain.

Photo: Purplepick

Footnote:

This is probably the only time I will ever write about fashion. But when you’re in love, you’re in love, and I’m in love with these boots. Buy a pair for yourself, and you’ll look chic, too. Only you can’t get the red on this side of the pond. For that, you’ll have to go to Norway. Which by-the-way is the most beautiful, magical place.