Spotting a cadre of fashionable females (who love females) adorning flannel, vests, designer hoodies, skinny jeans and even overalls, I noticed one item that tied every ensemble together: boots. I was soon inspired to boot myself up. Even my Sapphic partner in crime with laced up Doc Martens inspired me, and it’s not even 1994.

Knee High, mid-calf, demi-boot; buckles, zippers, studding (Some even had fringe. I gasp, seriously, fringe?); leather, suede, rattlesnake. These were just some of the many styles and designs of boots I tried on over the weekend, and they’re all really quite splendid, but they were all unsuitable for me; the main reason being that they all looked so damn awful clamped to my feet. I even caught the sales lady chuckling when I was trying on a Madison Boot. She couldn’t hide it. I could see she was welling up with tears, but I couldn’t pin point if it was because she was going to burst with laughter and was holding it in or if she was sad for me.

I should’ve just taken a look at my gay friends, none of whom can parlay the power of the boot like my lezzies can. Of course they don’t see that, but if they took off their rainbow colored glasses and quit having six cosmos for lunch, they would. And by lunch I mean breakfast.

Comparing the two parties that have ornamented themselves with boots, I came to the conclusion that boots may be made for walking, and that’s just what they may do, but damn, do they only look good on lesbians.

From knee high to a low cut to platforms and beyond, the boot will always side with the lesbians in matters of fashion I now believe. Cavalli and Armani can suck it, and I don’t care what Calvin or Gucci may say, only Con’s look good on me. But those lesbians, man can they rock any matter of boot. Even fringed ones. Gasp, yes I said fringe again!  

With a beautified mullet and a large, metallic belt cinching a light gray, power pantsuit, a lesbian could march into a business meeting, and simultaneously intimidate and seduce the board members. Said board members would all soon forget about the power point presentation that flickered in front of them, and would soon enough elect her as the new company executive. It’s the power of the lesbian boot look.

On the other hand, I could sashay into the same imaginary business meeting with leather Mid-Calf McQueen’s, only to have them elect me to refill the coffee pot. Then at night, as I pondered the domination the lesbians have over the boot look, my brain would detour as it replayed the snickering and ridicule I received for my boot look fail.

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