The Joy of Being Underdressed

I could turn back time and change three things, I know exactly what they’d be. First, I would have come out sooner — probably during the summer between my freshman and sophomore years at the University of Florida. (Though “why then” is a story for another piece entirely.) Secondly, I would have cared less about what others thought about me. And finally, I would have reconsidered my entire approach to footwear. <img alt="In" src="https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:188/1*pAEHZ-PoyukvIQzaSarTGw.png" style="height:79px; width:94px" />Inmy twenties, ill-conceived shoe choice was one of my worst enemies, and I now have the shabby feet to show for it. My insistence on wearing the most fabulous shoes I could squeeze my hooves into — especially boots that were very much not made for walking — left me with a few unsightly souvenirs on my bunioned left foot. <a href="https://level.medium.com/the-joy-of-being-underdressed-3b56ab74def5">Click Here</a>