A letter from a client

MY GRANDDAUGHTER SHOWED UP IN THE SAME SHOES I WORE IN MY SECOND-GRADE SCHOOL PHOTO. THEN SHE ASKED WHY I EVER STOPPED.

Diane Miller

Jackson, Wyoming · October 2026

I have never written anything like this before, and I’m not sure I’m the type. But two women at the café in Wilson asked about my shoes before I’d finished my coffee, and the young man at the post office said his grandmother wore a pair just like them. My friend Carol said, for heaven’s sake, Diane, just write it down. So here it is.

It isn’t really about shoes. It starts in October, when my granddaughter Ella came up from Denver for the weekend.

Ella is twenty-four and has opinions about everything. She walked into my kitchen in a pair of brown Mary Janes with a strap and a buckle, and I laughed out loud, because I’d worn almost the same pair in my second-grade school photo in 1965. White socks, a plaid dress and those shoes.

I went and got the photo. Ella held it up next to her feet and said:

Grandma, you were cool. Why did you ever stop?

I laughed and said what I’d been saying for thirty years.

Oh, honey. At my age you wear sensible shoes.

on the porch steps, doing up the buckle. the first shoes in thirty years i’ve wanted to sit down and look at.

THE SENSIBLE SHOE YEARS

Here’s what I didn’t say to Ella.

It wasn’t one decision. Somewhere in my forties I bought a pair of white walking sneakers because they were comfortable, and then another pair, and then the ones with the Velcro because my back didn’t like bending over. Winters were snow boots. Church was the same black flats I’d had since 1998, resoled twice.

Every pair was comfortable, and every pair said the same thing about me: she’s given up thinking about her feet.

None of that is a complaint. My feet were fine. But somewhere along the way, the girl in the school photo with the shiny buckles went quiet, and I didn’t notice her going.

a rounded toe, a t-strap with a silver buckle, and brogue detailing around the toe. the first thing i look at when i walk out the door.

SEE WHICH MARY JANES ARE STILL IN YOUR SIZE

HOW IT HAPPENS

Nobody decides to stop caring about her shoes. It happens one sensible pair at a time.

Sneakers because they’re comfortable. Black flats because they go with everything. Snow boots because it’s Wyoming. Every single pair is perfectly reasonable. But put enough of them by the door and they start telling you a story about yourself, and the story is that pretty shoes are for other people.

And after you’ve said “at my age you wear sensible shoes” enough times, it stops sounding like advice. It starts sounding like a fact.

WHAT I HAD WRONG

I genuinely thought pretty and comfortable were two different shoes. That you got one or the other, and at sixty-eight you picked comfortable and stopped looking.

But nobody told seven-year-old me that, and I wore those Mary Janes to school, to church and up a tree, every day for a year.

the dressier one in the collection, with a low block heel and a square toe. that’s the pair i’ll wear to christmas dinner.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. The things we put on every day deserve at least as much thought as the things we save for best.

THE SHOES ARE CALLED THE MARY JANES

I found them on the morning of the first snow, in Nancy’s little boutique on the Town Square, where I’d ducked in to get warm.

Nancy taught skiing on the mountain for years before she opened the shop, so when I showed her the school photo on my phone, she said something I haven’t stopped thinking about. “On the mountain, your feet decide whether you have a good day. Same in town. Nobody ever said they had to be ugly.” Then she took a pair down off the shelf.

They’re brown T-bar Mary Janes in a warm, burnished brown that’s darker at the toe, like a pair you’ve polished for years. A rounded toe with brogue detailing, the little punched holes my father had on his Sunday shoes. A T-strap that comes up the front and buckles at the side with a silver buckle. And a thick, chunky dark sole that sits flat and steady when you walk.

My first thought was, don’t be ridiculous, Diane, you’re sixty-eight. Mary Janes? But then I thought about the girl in the school photo. My size had already gone from the shelf, so Nancy had me order them on her website right there by the stove, before I could talk myself out of it.

the day they came, four days later. i put them on with my wool socks before i’d even folded up the tissue paper.

Here’s what arrived. The buckle means I can adjust the strap instead of squeezing my foot in. The rounded toe leaves room for my toes. The sole is thick enough that I’m not feeling every stone in the parking lot. And with a pair of thick wool socks and my cropped jeans, they’ve walked me to the post office every dry morning since the snow.

the morning of the photo. lily says i look like the grandmother in a christmas movie. i’m choosing to take that as a compliment.

WHAT HAPPENED WHEN JUNE SAW THEM

The next Sunday I wore them to church. My sister June saw me in the parking lot and stopped dead.

“Diane Miller,” she said. “Mom bought you those at Penney’s in 1965. You cried when you outgrew them.”

I’d forgotten that. June hadn’t.

After the service, two women asked where they were from. One said she’d been wearing the same white walking shoes for twelve years and hadn’t noticed until she looked at mine. And when I sent Ella a picture, she wrote back with three words and a lot of exclamation marks: “TOLD YOU. COOL.”

Ray’s only comment was that he’d forgotten I had ankles.

THREE THINGS I’VE LEARNED SINCE

One. Pretty and comfortable aren’t two different shoes. A rounded toe, a buckle you can adjust and a thick sole. That’s all it took.

Two. Wool socks change everything. I thought Mary Janes were for summer. With thick socks and cropped jeans, they’re a November shoe. On the snowy days, my boots still go by the door.

Three. Nobody thinks you’re too old for Mary Janes except you. That was entirely my own idea. Ella didn’t think so, June didn’t think so, and the women at church certainly didn’t think so.

ABOUT THE PRICE

I’ll be honest, because this was the part that made me hesitate.

The Verda Mary Jane Flats are $64.95. It was $162.50.

I wrote the price on a sticky note and left it on the kitchen table, because I was sure I’d read it wrong. I assumed there had to be a catch. I haven’t found one. It’s a small local shop selling directly, so there’s no department store taking a cut, and right now Nancy is celebrating five years in business with 60% off everything.

Before I ordered, I read the reviews. There are 4.5 of them, at 5 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I’m honest made me trust it more.

June has since ordered the dark brown pair with the little heel. She says it’s so we can match at Christmas. I think she’s just jealous it was my idea.

the sticky note is still on the kitchen table, right next to the school photo.

SEE WHICH MARY JANES ARE STILL IN YOUR SIZE

IF WE WERE AT MY KITCHEN TABLE

If we were sitting at my kitchen table with a coffee and the snow coming down, this is what I’d say.

Look at the shoes by your front door. Be honest about whether you chose them, or whether you just stopped thinking about your feet.

A pair of shoes won’t change your life. Of course they won’t. But having your granddaughter call you cool, and your sister remember the day you cried over a pair of Mary Janes, is worth more than I can tell you. I went thirty years without it.

Two practical things. The anniversary sale is on now, and the holidays are coming, with all those dinners and church services where you’ll stand at the door thinking, the black flats again. And the middle sizes go first. Nancy told me these have already sold out once.

I was never too old for Mary Janes. I just stopped looking down.

Diane

Verda |  Leather Mary Jane Flats

4.5/5 Based on 1.500+ reviews

$162.50

$64.95 USD
  • Burnished brown with brogue detailing on a rounded toe
  • T-strap with an adjustable silver buckle
  • Thick, chunky sole that sits flat and steady
  • Room for wool socks in the cold months
  • Also in a dressier block-heel version
  • Free delivery across the United States
  • Easy 30-day returns

SEE WHICH MARY JANES ARE STILL IN YOUR SIZE

anniversary sale ending tonight. small batches, and once this one is gone it is gone.

Diane Miller is 68 and lives in Jackson Hole with a labrador. She is not a home writer.

Nancy Susan Moulton · Free U.S. delivery · 30-day money-back guarantee

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