The Perfect Life #42 by Dr. Perfect
Dear Dr. Perfect,
My foot fetish is in constant battle with my foul odor revulsion. How to reconcile the two?
I’ll set aside my pastrami on rye to address your concerns. Fetishes are precarious pastimes, filled with strange and new wonders. Some people seek solace through fun runs or consumerism. Others, such as yourself, focus on feet, the only appendage we keep stifled within cotton socks and penny loafers.
The free-spirited among us dismiss such conventions and proudly display bunions and whatnot through flip-flops or other non-shoe related footwear. I can respect their audaciousness, while being simultaneously irritated. I didn’t ask to see your feet, but that’s what passes for normalcy nowadays.
The “free foot” brigade do have a point, however. What about the ground we walk on makes us so adverse to its elements? For instance, we associate “the floor” as a dirty-rotten cesspool of germs, a haven of biological terrors. To drop a corndog and resume eating it often results in sudden dismissal from polite society. Are we being overly sensitive?
Obviously, we need shoes. Even flip-flop types understand this. We can’t all be hippies or Hobbits, and God forbid you walk barefoot in the dog park. Feet can, in fact, be quite tantalizing if you’re weird enough. We’ve all been consigned to the thankless task of performing a foot massage to our significant other and/or shady Hollywood executive.
On the importance of being a foot-fetish connoisseur, I would refer you to Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. Within this cautionary tale of sensual fulfillment lies all the perspective you need in pursuit of gratification. The foot odor you may or may not experience in your travels remains a constant reminder of the cautionary limitations of hedonism, complicated by our astute sense of smell.
There might be a way to combine foot fetishes and the inevitable odors to follow, but it’s not that simple. Reach a compromise that equates your love of feet with the acceptance of their role as havens for blisters and to jam. I could rest easy never seeing another person’s foot again, but that’s my own hang up. I’m working on it.
Without feet, we’d miss out on crucial recreational activities like dancing, hopscotch, and walking across hot coals. I once had a college roommate with tremendous foot odor. After an entire semester, I learned to look past his anomaly and accept him for the degenerate drunk he was. An array of messy liquor bottles all over the room helped conceal the smell.
Sometimes the best answer is right under our noses. It’s mind over matter. Consider feet as the testament to your lofty desires, smells and all. For further insight, check out Daniel Day-Lewis in the classic feel-good film, My Left Foot.