I Let a Stranger Touch My Feet (and I liked it)
I have, as I believe it is referred to in the medical world, Hobbit feet. As a kid, I was thankful for this. A mixture of very rough skin and an almost masculine layer of hair meant I had no need for sneakers in summer, or slippers in winter. It was useful for the sort of last-minute adventures you only encounter as a child, when putting on shoes was a hindrance to climbing trees and finding treasure.
However, as an adult, I found myself becoming less and less proud of this fact. Fear of strangers, or worse - friends, judging my leg hands led me to keep them in a constant state of concealment. Trainers and ugg boots became my allies, while open-toed heels and sandals were seen as the enemy. I actually got to the point where I only bought outfits if I knew I could pull them off with boots or sports shoes.
Of course, the best way to deal with issues of self-image or confidence is to talk about it, usually at extent. For some, it might be chatting to a therapist. For others, it might be best to communicate fears amongst a group of peers. It may even be a case of a quiet one-on-one with your God in a state of meditation and reflection. But I am in impatient millennial and figured it was worth trying to tackle my foot-aversion head-on.
I booked myself a pedicure.
To many, this probably just sounds like a nice girly treat. For me, it was my worst nightmare. I spent the night before waxing my feet in preparation - a process I prefer to avoid because... well, it’s really painful, duh! But I’d much rather spend an evening ripping the hairs off my sensitive toes than imagine the look on the beauty therapist’s face when presented with my home-grown socks.
In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have walked the 4 miles to Bayswater from my place. It was a nice day and I figured the exercise would do me good. Then I arrived, out of breath and sweaty, at the stunning Boutique Spa and immediately felt bad for whoever would have to endure my musk.
Unlike other beauty salons I’ve briefly flirted with, I found the staff incredibly warm and friendly. I was a bit worried they’d see my flustered complexion and messy hair and think I was in the wrong place, but instead they instantly welcomed me and the next thing I knew, I had a herbal tea in my hands and I was browsing their impressive wall of nail polishes.
Then came crunch time. I was asked to go to the (lovely smelling) bathroom and remove my shoes and tights, so I could return and take my place on one of the throne-like pedicure spa chairs.
I was so self-conscious coming back out. While I had waxed my feet, I’d not had time to do the rest of my legs and I was terrified my allocated beauty therapist would reel in horror at my sasquatch-esque appearance. I apologised profusely, expecting her to wince, but on the contrary, she smiled and told me not to be silly in a reassuring tone that you would more expect to hear from your mother or best mate. I felt safe and finally relaxed.
The whole experience was amazing. I never thought I’d enjoy having my feet washed, exfoliated, massaged and polished, but I suddenly understood why there is a whole industry dedicated to it. You do feel special. For one moment, I allowed myself to forget about my hangups and just enjoy myself.
I’m sure I have a lot further to go when it comes to working on my self-image, but having a stranger seem comfortable - even slightly happy - to treat my feet with the care I probably should have been giving them all these years, certainly helped. Perhaps, next time, I’ll even be brave enough to post a photo of my freshly painted toes!
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