I’m not sure when I first realized my love for men’s oxfords, but I think it had always been there, waiting for me to realize a few things about myself.

A story I often tell, either to myself or others, is that I realized I had a penchant for masculine attire and accessories when I first played (and was inappropriately and severely punished) with my father’s briefcase. It must have been a weekend, given the fact that it wasn’t on his person on this particular day, one of those Saturdays where he brought home three whoppers with cheese for us and “went to the store” for hours on end. We were given information on a need-to-know-basis, and he never thought we needed to know much. Part Asian immigrant father / part just my father in general. 

Baba’s briefcase was a deep brown leather with gold combinations. It was the briefcase my father carried to work every day. I often watched my father get ready to leave for work during the summer when we were expected to stay in the house all day long, reading various encyclopedic like texts to each other (one of these books even showed up on a film once as a means for adolescent Nat (played by Elijah Wood) to help Daniel (played by Mel Gibson) learn about the half century he’d been asleep, frozen in a cryogenic chamber waiting for his love to wake from her coma - Forever Young, and my brother, sister and I had a good laugh). I watched him flatten his necktie against his chest, smoothing out wrinkles. I watched him (on cooler days) button the sleeves of his dress shirt. I watched him clip pens to his front shirt pocket. I watched him clip his security badge to that same pocket.

And then, I watched him tie his men’s oxfords.

Back to the briefcase. I can’t tell you what it was, and no one seemed to study my father’s work aesthetic the way that I did, but I remained infinitely intrigued by its deep leather, its glinting scales. Perhaps it was because my father was a difficult, strict father who remained omnipresent but altogether unknowable. I suppose there was at least a part of me that wanted to play with his briefcase to see what worlds it contained. But, something else that drew me to it was very much the masculine edge of the dark leather with the feminine sparkles of the locks. Now, I don’t want to get that gendered about it, but, how one views these types of objects as a child is inherently connected to how one begins to form their understanding of how gender ideologies operate within a traditional society. 

It starts with the briefcase.

I didn’t know how briefcases worked, but it says something about how enamored I was with this piece that I risked sneaking into the briefcase. I was a hyper-obedient child who was afraid of any ramification of disobeying my father (which were always met with violence). 

I fucked up the combination. When I realized this, I gingerly placed the briefcase where it belonged, and hid in the bathroom, in the fetal position. I knew I couldn’t hide forever, but I stayed in there as long as possible. 

I often wonder whether that moment is the reason that I suppressed my flair for dandy attire for the first half of my life. What would have happened in my journey towards queerness and my gender identity had my first exploration not been met with violence?

*

I started with feminized oxfords, with a short chunky heel and bright colors. I mostly found them on eBay. I believe that I learned the name of the shoe at some point in my late-twenties, just as I was coming out, finally, to myself and others. 

I loved the ritual of tying the shoes. I loved how they dressed up any outfit. I loved that they reminded me of the masculine presentation of my father, who lives in me in complicated ways. 

A few years later, I decided to stop fighting the urge within me for dandyism. I began buying ruffled collars and men’s shirts. I began wearing neckties and the occasional bowtie (these days, it’s the reverse).

And. I began searching, often in vain, for men’s styled oxford shoes with the tiny heel, that fit my feet. 

I had two pairs of oxfords by 2019. A deep brown with pastel blue laces. A grey suede. One pair were meant for feet like men. The other was meant for AMAB feet, but I wore them anyway, even when I often felt like a kid wearing their dad’s shoes. 

For the last several years, I’ve been following The Office of Angela Scott’s oxford shoes like a bad habit. They were much, much too expensive for me, worn by the likes of Julia Roberts and featured on Ellen. The ever classic double earth sign, I couldn’t possibly rationalize spending that much money on just a single pair of shoes. I followed their sales, which were more devastating than hopeful. 

And then 2019 happened. I went through the most difficult experience of my life to date, a heinous, petty, soul-sucking divorce from a person I believed was queer and genderfluid (as well as a number of other things), who had presented a deeply crafted persona, cluttered with deceit. At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

So, I decided, even though I didn’t know when I’d actually safely be able to wear them out in public, that I deserved a divorce gift, a gift of freedom, a gift of gorgeous, expensive, oxfords that suited me perfectly. A kind of symbol for my new life. Getting divorced also happened to “nicely” dovetail into the start of my 40s. A win win. (A lose lose?)

The oxfords are red and white, and look made for tapping on a stage or busking on a crate on some street corner in Memphis. Oh, right. And how oxfords look meant for tapping is yet another appeal for me. I laced one shoe with black laces, and the other with white.

They sat on a little red step stool in my apartment, what I nickname the grief house, for two years. 

And then, my once dearest platonic, Sarah, who I started just femme & dandy with in the height of quarantine, invited me to their 30th birthday party, in an old renovated church turned into an Airbnb. Of course it was Cabaret themed. And I happened to have the perfect shoes for it.

A few months prior, I had bought my first tuxedo. An old friend and photographer wanted to take photos of me in a tuxedo as a kind of symbolic ritual of my rebirth. He expected me to rent the tux. But, what queer would pass up an opportunity to own a tux tailored to their body?

I wore the tuxedo jacket, a black bowtie, a short little black top from Chloe Dao (an Asian, Houston born and made designer, and an early winner of Project Runway), some biking shorts from Target, and the shoes. It was the perfect event for their entry into the world, and mine.

About the Author

Addie Tsai (any/all) is a mixed-race Asian artist who teaches creative writing at William & Mary. She earned her Master of Fine Arts from Warren Wilson College and her PhD in Dance from Texas Woman's University. They teach in Regis University’s Mile High MFA Program in Creative Writing and formerly taught at Goddard College’s MFA in Interdisciplinary Arts. Addie collaborated with Dominic Walsh Dance Theater on Victor Frankenstein and Camille Claudel, among others. Addie is the author of Dear Twin and Unwieldy Creatures, a Shirley Jackson Awards finalist for Best Novel. Addie is the Senior Prose Acquisitions Editor for Abode Press and Fiction co-Editor and Editor of Features & Reviews at Anomaly. Find them on Twitter @addiebrook and Instagram @addieisunwieldy.