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Cinderella issues

Living



Diary of a Home Bird
Ciara Galvin

THE first rule of going to a concert is to wear comfortable shoes, always wear comfortable shoes. Gigs these days are becoming more famous for the attire of concert goers than actually for the music, look at Coachella or Glastonbury.  
It’s all flower crowns and fancy boots thanks to celebs like Kendall Jenner, who I assume doesn’t have to trek for miles to the concert site unlike the ‘Josephine soaps’ such as myself.
Channelling my inner Kendall recently I hit the shops trying to finish off the perfect outfit for a Beyoncé concert. The big sis had bought tickets and of course I duly obliged by going along.
Outfit choice for a concert is a huge dilemma, especially considering it was seven years ago since I first went to see ‘Queen Bey’. It was simpler times in 2009 and totally acceptable to attend a concert wearing an Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie and Ugg boots. Now however, if you’re not wearing a slogan emblazoned top and perfect eyeliner you just haven’t brought your ‘A game’.
Always one to follow the crowd, I dusted off my ‘Eat well, brunch more’ top, and dug out my 90s style choker (they’re back in apparently). To finish off the look I invested in a new pair of shoes for the occasion - shoe boots to be exact.
Disregarding all of the above rules I bought a pair of cream shoe boots that didn’t fit me.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, I knowingly purchased shoes one size too small for me after squeezing my hoofs into them and deciding I’d get more wear out of the cream pair rather than the black pair that were in my size.
After trekking to the Luas, walking to a restaurant, followed by a mile walking in an attempt to hail a taxi, we were eventually off our feet and I got a moment to assess the damage.
In hindsight I should have brought a pair of flat shoes, I underestimated the amount of walking and just how snug size fives are.
After the concert it was a brisk walk following my sister, because she lives in Dublin and knew where she was going. Turns out though, that she didn’t have a clue and we walked needlessly in the wrong direction for 40 minutes until I gave in and demanded we get a taxi.
It wasn’t until the next day I realised just how bad things were. Let’s just say that having effectively severed my big toes I am now officially a size 5, so at least the shoe boots may get a second outing.
I don’t care whether the next concert is in Croke Park or the National Concert Hall, I’m going to wear wellies.

> In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old trying to get used to living away from her parents.

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