An illustrated letter about everyday footwear

At 68, I had a pair of shoes for inside the house and another for going out. My daughter asked why I couldn't find one pair that did both.

There were two pairs of shoes sitting beside my back door for almost three years.

One was a pair of old house slippers that I wore around the kitchen and out to the washing line.

The other was a pair of proper walking shoes, the kind with laces that needed tying every time I wanted to go somewhere.

And somehow, neither pair seemed quite right for the things I actually did most days.

I'd wear the slippers to hang out the washing. Then I'd decide I needed milk from the shops, so I'd change into the walking shoes.

Half an hour later, I'd come home, take them off and put the slippers back on.

Then the postman would arrive, or I'd remember something in the garden, and the whole performance would begin again.

My daughter Kate noticed one Saturday morning when she came around to help me move a few things in the kitchen.

I'd just sat down to put my proper shoes on because we were going to the garden centre.

She watched me tying the second lace and said, "Mum, why do you make every little outing such hard work?"

I told her these were my going-out shoes.

She looked at the old slippers beside the door.

"And those are your staying-in shoes?"

Exactly, I said.

She shook her head.

"Mum, surely there's a pair of shoes you can slip on to go outside without looking as though you've forgotten to change out of your slippers."

I laughed.

But after she'd gone home, I kept thinking about it.

At 68, I had somehow made one of the simplest parts of getting dressed into a little job I needed to do several times a day.

And I couldn't remember when it had become normal.

I suspect I'm not the only woman my age who has accumulated different shoes for different little jobs.

Something for the house.

Something for the garden.

Something acceptable for going into town.

And the pair we actually like looking at, which hardly ever gets worn.

All I really wanted was something sensible that didn't make me choose between convenience and looking presentable.

How I ended up wearing slippers more than shoes

I've always been rather particular about footwear.

Not in a fashionable way. I've never been someone who needed a dozen pairs in different colours.

But I do like shoes that feel secure and suit what I'm doing.

When I was younger, I had ordinary lace-up shoes for everyday wear and a nicer pair for going somewhere special.

Then, somewhere in my sixties, I started appreciating how easy it was to slip into something without bending down to do up a fastening.

So I bought slippers.

Then another pair when the first ones wore out.

And before I knew it, I was spending most of my days in footwear I wouldn't dream of wearing outside the house.

The slippers were easy.

But they looked exactly like slippers.

And the proper shoes looked fine, but seemed a lot of trouble for a ten-minute trip to the chemist.

It wasn't that I couldn't put them on.

I could.

I was simply tired of having to stop, sit down, fasten everything and then undo it all again twenty minutes later.

That might sound like a small complaint.

It is.

But when something happens several times every day, even a small inconvenience becomes rather tiresome.

What I had wrong about sensible shoes

For years, I'd thought that a proper everyday shoe needed to cover the whole foot and fasten firmly.

If it was easy to slip on, I assumed it must be a house slipper.

If it looked presentable enough to wear to the shops, I assumed I'd need to sit down to put it on.

That was simply how I'd divided up my footwear.

But Kate's question made me wonder whether I'd been looking in the wrong places.

Maybe there was something between a bedroom slipper and a lace-up walking shoe.

Something with a proper sole and a covered front, but an open back that made it easy to put on.

Something I could leave near the door without it looking as though I'd forgotten to get dressed.

And something that didn't have to be particularly expensive or fashionable to be useful.

Once I started thinking about it like that, the whole thing seemed rather obvious.

I'd been choosing shoes based on categories.

House shoes. Walking shoes. Going-out shoes.

Perhaps it was time to choose something based on the way I actually lived.

The blue clogs that caught my attention

A few evenings later, I was browsing Perth Boutique and came across a pair called the Lyra Orthopaedic Clogs.

The word orthopaedic was in the name, although it was the shape that made me look more closely.

They were blue, with a covered front and an open back.

The upper had little decorative cut-outs arranged in a pattern, with stitched detailing around the edges.

There was a strap across the top, a tan-coloured insole and a low, slightly raised sole.

I liked the blue immediately.

Not a bright royal blue, but a softer, dusty shade that reminded me of old denim.

It looked like the kind of colour I could wear with almost everything in my wardrobe.

Jeans, linen trousers, a casual skirt or the navy things I seem to buy without thinking.

But the part I kept coming back to was the open back.

No laces.

No awkward heel fastening to reach around for.

Just a shoe that appeared straightforward to slip into.

And unlike my slippers, it looked like something I could wear when leaving the house.

When they arrived, I took them out of the packaging and had a proper look.

The little cut-outs across the front were more interesting than a completely plain shoe.

There was visible stitching around the upper, and the tan insole gave the whole design a warmer appearance.

Nothing fancy.

But certainly not something that looked like it belonged under the bed beside my nightdress.

I rather liked them.

Why I chose the Lyra

I've become much more careful about what I want from an everyday shoe.

I no longer buy something simply because the colour is nice or because it looks good in a photograph.

I want to understand how I'm going to use it.

For me, the Lyra's appeal was its simple slip-on shape.

The front covers the toes while allowing some openings through the decorative cut-out pattern.

The back remains open, so there isn't a closed heel section to pull into place.

There's a strap across the upper part, and the product page describes a lightweight, adjustable design.

The insole is described by the store as having memory foam and arch support, although individual comfort and support will always depend on the person's foot.

I wouldn't expect any shoe to magically solve every ache or medical problem.

I've lived long enough to be suspicious of promises like that.

But I do appreciate a shoe designed with everyday wear and convenience in mind.

And I liked that the Lyra appeared to offer the ease of a clog without looking like an ordinary household slipper.

It's funny what begins to matter more as you get older.

At thirty, I might have paid most attention to how a shoe looked with a dress.

At sixty-eight, I'm thinking about whether it's easy to put on when I remember I need something from the shops.

Neither approach is wrong.

But my priorities have certainly changed.

The morning I finally stopped changing shoes

The first proper test wasn't anything special.

It was a Tuesday morning.

There was washing to hang out, a parcel to collect and a few things I needed from the supermarket.

Normally, I would have started the day in my slippers, then changed into proper shoes before leaving the house.

But this time, I put the Lyra clogs near the back door.

I slipped them on when I went out to the washing line.

Then I came inside, picked up my handbag and went to collect the parcel.

No little footwear ceremony in the hallway.

No sitting on the bottom stair to tie laces.

And no wondering whether I looked ridiculous leaving the house in something that belonged in the bedroom.

I simply got on with the morning.

That was really what I'd wanted.

Not a grand transformation.

Just one less thing to organise before doing the ordinary jobs that fill most of my days.

When I got home, I made tea and sat down for a while before finishing the washing.

And I remember feeling rather pleased that I'd managed the whole morning without thinking particularly hard about my shoes.

What Kate noticed when she came around

Kate visited later that week.

She came through the back door, put her handbag on the kitchen table and noticed the blue clogs on the floor.

"New shoes, Mum?"

I told her I'd finally taken her advice.

She picked one up and looked at the little cut-out pattern.

"Those are rather nice."

I told her they were called Lyra and that I'd found them through Perth Boutique.

She asked whether they were easy to put on.

I slipped one on to show her.

She laughed.

"Well, that makes more sense than all those slippers and walking shoes by the door."

I told her I was keeping the walking shoes for longer walks, thank you very much.

Because I was.

There's no reason one pair of clogs needs to replace every other kind of footwear.

But for the everyday moments between being in the house and going somewhere nearby, I liked having another option.

That was the point.

What happened on an ordinary afternoon at home

One thing I hadn't expected was how much I would enjoy simply having the clogs nearby.

Not arranged beautifully in the wardrobe.

Not packed away in their box waiting for an occasion.

Just somewhere I could see them when I needed to go out.

The blue suited the colours I already wore, and the covered front made them look more like everyday shoes than the slippers I'd been relying on.

I began leaving them by the chair in the sitting room when I came in from the garden.

Then, when I remembered something I'd left outside, I could put them back on and go.

It seems such a silly thing to be pleased about.

But I've reached an age where I find the small conveniences genuinely satisfying.

A handbag with a pocket for my glasses.

A cardigan that works with several outfits.

A pair of shoes that doesn't require stopping what I'm doing to put them on.

Those are the things I appreciate now.

None of that means I've stopped wanting things to look nice.

Quite the opposite.

I still like a pretty colour and a little decorative detail.

I simply want those things to come with a design that makes sense for the way I live.

Three things I've learned about everyday shoes after 65

One. Convenience matters more than I used to admit. I spent years thinking that a sensible shoe needed laces or complicated fastenings. These days, I appreciate something that is straightforward to slip on for a quick trip outside or an everyday errand.

Two. A practical shoe doesn't have to look like a house slipper. The Lyra has a covered front, decorative perforations, stitched detailing and a low sole. I like having an option that looks more presentable than the slippers I've worn around the house for years.

Three. The right shoe depends on what you're actually doing. I still have proper walking shoes for outings that call for them. A slip-on clog serves a different purpose. There's no need to expect one pair of footwear to do everything perfectly.

That last point is particularly important.

I've become much less interested in buying something because it promises to be the only pair of shoes I'll ever need.

That never seems realistic.

I'd rather have a few useful things that suit different parts of my life.

And I'd rather each one be something I genuinely enjoy using.

Why I chose the blue

The Lyra comes in several colours.

There are red, green, brown and other shades, but I kept returning to the blue.

I've always liked softer blues.

They remind me of faded denim, the old painted furniture my mother kept on the veranda and the blue-and-white things I seem to collect for the house.

The Lyra has that sort of gentle, dusty-blue appearance.

Not too bright.

Not too dark.

And the tan-coloured insole and brown sole stop it looking too plain.

I like the stitched edging as well.

It's a small thing, but it gives the clog a little definition.

The little cut-out pattern across the front makes it look different from an ordinary enclosed shoe, while the open heel keeps the design straightforward.

I can imagine wearing the blue with jeans, pale trousers or the casual things I pull out when the weather warms up.

That was enough for me.

I didn't need anything more elaborate.

About the price

I want to mention the price because I always check these things before ordering online.

Perth Boutique currently lists the Lyra Orthopaedic Clogs at $69.95 AUD, with a displayed comparison price of $190.00.

That's an advertised saving of approximately sixty-three per cent.

It is a substantial reduction, and I would always suggest looking carefully at the product itself rather than ordering simply because something is on sale.

The Lyra is described as an orthopaedic comfort clog, with an insole featuring memory foam, an adjustable lightweight design and a slightly raised sole.

The store advertises arch support and shock absorption as product features. Those are worth investigating, although any claims about relieving particular medical conditions should be treated separately from ordinary comfort and fit.

The sizes are listed from AU 4 through AU 12, alongside EU size numbers.

I would check the sizing carefully before choosing.

Clogs can fit differently from closed-back shoes, and the position of the heel and the width through the front both matter.

Perth Boutique also lists free home delivery in Australia.

I'd check the store's current returns policy before ordering, just as I would with any pair of shoes bought online.

For me, the appeal of the Lyra is straightforward.

A slip-on design.

A covered, decorative front.

A soft blue colour that suits my everyday clothes.

And a style that seems intended for the ordinary errands and moments that make up most of the week.

That's the sort of thing I look for now.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea between us, and you told me you had a perfectly good pair of walking shoes but still spent most of your days in old slippers because they were easier to put on, I would understand completely.

I did exactly the same thing.

I'd wear my slippers around the house.

Then I'd need something from the shops and change into proper shoes.

Then I'd come home, take those off and put my slippers back on.

And before long, I'd spent more time organising my footwear than the errand itself had taken.

I didn't need a pair of shoes that promised to change my life.

I didn't need something that made extraordinary claims about fixing every ache and pain.

I simply wanted an everyday option that was easier to put on and looked a little nicer than the slippers I'd been wearing for years.

The Lyra clogs are worth a look if that sounds familiar.

Study the photographs, check the measurements and see whether the open-back design is suitable for the way you like to wear your shoes.

They're not going to be right for every woman or every activity.

And if you have a foot condition that needs proper medical advice or supportive footwear, that is something worth discussing with a qualified professional rather than relying on a product name.

But for everyday use, I can see why the simple slip-on design might appeal to women like me.

At sixty-eight, I don't want to spend half my morning fussing with things that ought to be straightforward.

I'd rather open the back door, put on a practical pair of shoes and get on with whatever the day brings.

And if Kate no longer finds me sitting on the bottom stair tying my laces before a ten-minute trip to the garden centre, she'll consider that a small victory.

So will I.

At 68, I've decided that everyday shoes should make ordinary life easier, not give me another little job to do before I leave the house.

Maggie