Shoe Business

April 24, 2023

“What’s the one most important thing a singer needs to be successful in the opera world?” A wide eyed 19-year old Roz desperately asked from the front row of opera workshop class one day in the year 2000. What a pain in the ass kind of student was I? As if there’s a secret neat and tidy answer that could sum it all up for us, easily preparing us all for a step-by-step path to assured success.

The formidable woman at the front of this class that day was Judith Forst, mezzo soprano. I wonder what she must have thought when I asked that ridiculous question. At the time, I didn’t yet know the significance of her career or her integrity as a human. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of working with her, you know there is no one more prepared, more serious, more generous of spirit or artistry than her. She is a giant in the opera world and has built a lifelong legacy of excellence, mentorship, and unyielding resilience.

Yet there she was, at the front of a class of opera wannabes, fielding this clueless question from me. I remember the look on her face as she listened to me babble. She has a wise, all-knowing presence about her, an impish sparkle of mischief in her eyes at all times, and a face born for the stage with gorgeous expressive features.

Judith Forst, photo by Barry Glass

She slowly and silently set her sights on me, reading me like a book she had flipped through casually before realizing it belonged in the kids section. The corner of her mouth curled slightly into a cheeky smile. My question came running out at 100 miles/hour and was filled with half giggles, stuttering, and a few apologies for deigning to even speak. Hashtag Canada.

After a pause that felt like eternity to me, but was in fact divine dramatic timing on her part, she replied with two words: “Sensible shoes.” Her response was slow and measured, with the gravitas earned by a lifetime of work and dedication to art. It was a full sentence and she was serene and unflappable.

Poised with pen in hand and ready to write the word of the Lord in my sparkly notebook, I was thankfully speechless. And confused. She moved on to another question from another eager young singer and I stared down at the blank page of my notebook. Beyond my lap I could see the glittery tips of my own emerald green kitten toe flats that now seemed to be peeking out to laugh at me like two mean girls on the playground. I crossed my ankles and tucked my feet under my chair.

I spent most of my twenties in supremely NON-sensible shoes. Balanced precariously on tip-toe in wedges, platforms, stilettos, peep toes, sling-backs, and high-heeled boots. Polka dot heels, leopard heels, red-bottomed heels, in every color and pattern that appealed. People in power would tell me constantly to wear a higher heel in auditions. “They make you look so much slimmer and it’s so flattering.” Neat.

I would watch tenors, baritones, and basses go in and out of auditions in their stable flat shoes and suits that didn’t require two pairs of spanx. No make-up required for them, and they all had a similar exit line: I’m so sweaty and can’t wait to get out of these uncomfortable clothes!

Seriously? I would love to have worn their outfits and be judged more for my merit than my measurements. Sweat would pour down my back and neck and those two pairs of spanx were basically biohazardous material at the end of an audition day. Then again, they probably never got to experience the exhilaration of taking off a bra after singing. Holy crap, there is nothing like it.

Photo used with permission from artists

Backstage at Carnegie Hall one day in December, I stood in front of a mirror before an audition in my dress and nylons with one foot firmly on the ground supporting my body happily and the other foot in a black Jimmy Choo stiletto. I stood like a flamingo on the heeled foot and then alternated to the shoeless foot to see if I noticed any remarkable difference.

Shoeless Roz looked powerful, grounded, and ready to sing six arias in a row. Heeled Roz looked like she was desperately trying to please, attract, and apologize simultaneously for the monstrosity of her form. Could one stupid heel suddenly turn me into a consumable product fit to appease the male gaze? I slipped on the other Choo shoe, cinched my bra up a little higher, and got the job.

As my manager and I left the building that day he remarked at how flattering my closed toed shoes made me look and I thought it was the perfect moment to recount the Judith Forst sensible shoe story. His response was representative of his absolute garbage character when he told me that she certainly had built an incredible career, but that she “didn’t really fully make it to the big time, did she.” I wondered in that moment how hard I could throw my stiletto shoes. I also wondered how far I could throw a human.

I flashed back to the panel of dudes in suits who had just sat behind a long table watching my audition, judging every thing about me. Their tepid responses, the hushed snickering with each other, and the unnecessary remarks about my physical characteristics. I visualized an audition where I could step out of those heels, pick up one at a time, and hurl each shoe at their heads. My aim is pretty great and at least in my imagination, it brought my overflowing rage to a comfortable rolling boil.

The shoe saga continued while singing in a production of Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte when I made the fatal mistake of improvising a cadenza that included a momentary showing off of a few high notes and an unplanned pause. “QUELLE HORREUR!” That’s conductor for: “You’re a stupid and selfish soprano.” From the podium in the orchestra pit he stopped the rehearsal.

Maestro: Did Mozart write that in the score?

Roz: No, but I thought it was kinda fun!

Maestro: It was piggish and crass.

Roz: Ok, well can we find something fun to do there that you like?

Maestro: I could think of something fun I would like very much if your heels were two inches higher and your neckline was four inches lower.

Then he keeled over and died instantly. No, just kidding. But in my imagination he did. He died of a fatal stabbing stiletto to the forehead. Hurled by a furious woman who grew up using a BB gun and tin cans on a fence for target practice. When charged with stifling me musically, sexually objectifying me, and public humiliation, he was mentally sentenced to my impeccable aim and the ridiculous shoes on my feet. Seems fair to me. He did actually die a few years later. Coincidence? We will never know and you can’t prove anything.

A few years later I was backstage at the San Francisco Opera house wearing bright orange flats with small, sparkly bows on them. As I’ve written about before, orange is a color that I’ve been warned to keep away from my face because of my coloring but I am drawn to it, nonetheless. A stagehand walked up to me and said, “So, why orange shoes? They don’t really go with anything.” I responded, “They go with nothing so they go with everything!” He looked me up and down and said, “Your feet are kinda tiny.” My feet ARE tiny. They’re the only part of me that is narrow and small. I looked down at them trying to come up with a response. He beat me to it with a sly grin and said, “I guess nothing grows in the shade.” I thought about chucking my shoes at him but I hesitated a little too long and he disappeared upstage left.

It wasn’t until I was onstage singing a few moments later when I realized that it was a boob size comment. It was one of the first times that someone had beaten me to a witty retort and I was totally caught off guard…and intrigued. That cheeky stagehand is now my husband and we’re head over heels in love.

Auditions, performances, cast parties, interviews, meetings, photo shoots, and donor events. I continued to wear ridiculous footwear you countless events in an effort to please. I would often tuck a pair of flip flops in my purse (tiny feet, big perks), so that I could slip them on as soon as I could leave. I do admit that I often felt powerful wearing them. Perhaps it was my vivid imagination of impaling anyone who crossed me.

For legal reasons, I’ve only ever thrown a shoe at a human once. A boy at a summer voice workshop I ran who had been teasing and bullying the girls all week had fallen asleep at the back of my masterclass. Rude. I called his name to wake him up to no avail. I kicked my shoe into my hand and launched. I hit him squarely in the chest. Bullseye. Relax, everyone. It was a size 7 flip flop. He was fine.

Years later, I was walking my dog with my husband in the park. It was May of 2020 and nobody knew what was going on and we wore our masks outside constantly. I can never see my tiny feet that never fully grew in the shade of my giant boobs, especially below a mask, and I took a misstep on the path. Something cracked and popped violently. I ended up in a boot for 6 weeks only to think that I had healed, joyfully removed the boot, walked my dog again, and tripped on a curb.

The second time was medically worse and I had completely torn all the major ligaments from the bone, chipped chunks of bone off, and had a few hairline fractures. My foot just dangled there pathetically. I was sentenced to a boot for 8 weeks and then scheduled for surgery to repair the ligaments. Post surgery I wore a splint 24 hours a day, then graduated to a knee scooter to keep all weight off of it for another 8 weeks. Then 8 more weeks of boot and crutches, physical therapy, and eventually a super sexy ankle wrap for about a year.

Now, I have no cartilage in that ankle. It was all torn in the fall(s) and needed removal, but the ligaments are repaired and I have a few cool battle scars on my delicate little ankle. My marathon days are over (sighs in sarcasm) and my feet have no hope of being stable or safe in any kind of heel. Fine by me.

I purchased the shoes that my physical therapist recommended that look like geriatric pontoons and when I begrudgingly put them on, I felt my knees and ankles melt into their pillowy support. I bought another pair in hot pink. I never thought that I would enjoy wearing orthopedic type shoes, but I stand corrected (shoe pun).

I think about Judi’s wise words all the time. I wonder if she knows how powerful a statement it actually was. She probably knows exactly what it meant because she is a wise, experienced, super woman. She knew what I was about to learn; that a life in the arts can be sole destroying (shoe pun again!) and would likely tempt me to commit manslaughter by shoe. She also knew that these challenges and opportunities would require both metaphorical and literal sensible shoes, a healthy dose of ferocity, and a deep commitment to artistry and my self. All while keeping my eye on my target.

I try to pass on Judi’s wise words to my students every chance I get, with only one tiny Roz edit. “What’s the most important thing a singer needs to be successful in the opera world?”

Sensible shoes…and really good aim.