A Strongly Worded Letter to Wedge Sneakers

Dear Wedge Sneakers,

I first saw you sometime last spring when I was perusing US weekly while an Asian lady named Sharon was delicately painting my toenails. You were on the feet of Beyoncé and I was immediately confused. “What the fuck is she wearing?” I asked myself, “Is this some new couture collection from FUBU?” But then I saw it, the headline, your name, SNEAKER WEDGES. And then I turned the page, because I have ADD.

Like, you're super fugly. Fugly to the point where I would totally wish you upon my worst frenemy, only because there's nothing I wouldn't wish upon that gap-toothed bitch. Yet for some reason, as I continue to see more and more celebs donning your chunky velcroness I can't help but want you. Like a betch to an asshole, I'm drawn to you.

I'm attracted to the fact that you, like most shows I watch, make no fucking sense. Like if I wanted to wear sneakers, I'd put on my Nikes. If I wanted to wear wedges I'd go back to 2007. But since there is now a combination category there is only one wedge sneaker I will think about wearing and that is the OG of snedges or sneels, Isabel Marant's.

Isabel's version is chic because celebs like Hilary Doof and Miranda Kerr are wearing you, you cost like 800 dollars, and if you're not on legs that are as thin as a q-tip then you will make those legs look like a giant fucking tree stump. I really like that about you.

I'm totally willing to look past that you literally look like the Sketchers I begged my mom to get me in 3rd grade or the footwear of a trendy hobo because you, my fugly fucking friend, are what's chic.

Fashion Fauxward Air Kisses,

The Betches

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