Back when I was just a little girl, barely into my teens, my parents whisked me away to this magical store reserved exclusively for families of World War II veterans, thanks to my grandpa’s service and his prized store pass. Picture this: Ukraine, still firmly in the grip of the Soviet era, with a scarcity of pretty much everything.

Stepping into that store felt like hitting the jackpot. While my parents nudged me towards practical boots for our brutal winters, my eyes fixated on the most exquisite pair of suede boots. Light gray and utterly captivating, I was convinced they were the epitome of beauty. Of course, my parents warned me: salt, snow, and rain would wreak havoc on my beloved boots. And they were right. Soon enough, my once pristine boots were a mess, barely holding themselves together. Yet, I stubbornly soldiered on, cleaning them religiously, stuffing them with newspapers to dry, and trudging through the snow with wet feet. As I gazed at those worn-out boots, I made myself a solemn vow: when I grew up, I’d amass a shoe collection fit for every occasion and season.

In my 20s, I dreamed my collection would resemble the one of a character from my favorite show, whose passion for shoes mirrors my own. While  I may not own any Manolo’s or Choo’s, I proudly strut in my SW’s and a handful of other cherished brands. Comfort and uniqueness are my priorities – not to dazzle others, but to honor that wide-eyed little girl who once dreamed endlessly about shoes.