#HOBO'S SANDALS ARE THE KEY TO EVERYTHING!!!

[skyarbor]

HOBO’S YELLOW SANDALS ARE MAGICAL ARTEFACTS! IT HAS BEEN CONFIRMED!

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 2

At first I don't know what woke me, but then I feel a buzzing somewhere on the bed and I grope around blindly for the phone until I find it and bring it to my ear. "Hello?" I say, feeling horribly groggy.

"Hi, Roan, honey."

"Dad?" I ask, sitting up straighter. I squint at the clock on the bedside table. It's not actually as late as I thought it was, only one in the morning. I yawn and crack my jaw accidentally. "Ouch."

"Are you okay? Is this a bad time?"

"No, no, I'm fine. What's up? Isn't it late there?"

"It's only two in the morning. Your mother and I just got finished watching a season of West Wing and I thought I'd call you, see how you're doing."

"West Wing is still going?"

"No, no, it's just the latest show we're watching. We just got through with season three. How are you, honey?"

"I'm good."

There's a brief pause.

"Yeah, you're good? I'm glad, I'm glad to hear that. We, ah, we think about you pretty often."

"Yeah, I think about you guys too. How's mom doing?"

"She's good, she's good. She got through with that last operation and, you know, she was really out of it for, ah, for a couple of weeks, but she's all rested up now and she's – she's doing a lot better."

"That's great, I'm glad."

I get up, slip on some sandals, and push the door open, making sure I've tucked the room key into my pocket, and let the night air swallow me up. I lean on the second-floor railing just outside my room and look up and down the row of rooms; ordinarily you'd expect to see at least one or two chain-smoking Latinos out there burning the midnight oil, at least judging by my experiences with similar motels in the past, but it's completely deserted, just like the rest of Gumption.

"What are you up to these days? Are you still working for that paper down in Corpus Christi?"

"Yeah, the Star-Tribune."

"How's that going?"

"It's good."

"Yeah? That's good, that's good."

Another silence passes. I close my eyes. "How about you?" I ask. "How's everything at the shop?”

"Oh, it's fine. I guess it’s car crash season, now that it’s summer. We’ve been very busy. I just wish it wasn’t so hot."

"You and everybody else."

"Right," he laughs. "So yeah, that's alright. It’s good money, at least, we’re bringing it in hand over fist. And then in a couple of months your mother and I are going to go visit Alan and Margaret in Louisville like we always do.”

"I keep asking you to get me one of those little bats and you never do."

"Well, I have five of them sitting in my closet back home, if you'd come and visit once in a while."

This conversation, as it usually does, is steering in a direction I don't much like. "Well," I say briskly, "I'm glad mom's doing okay. And you seem to be doing alright as well."

"I wish you'd call more."

"Well, you know, I'm busy."

"Too busy to call your parents?" he asks, and I roll my eyes.

"Well, you know," I start, but he sighs heavily.

"Forget it," he says. "I just wish you'd talk to us more."

I think, not for the first time, of the letter laying on the floor of my apartment, five hundred or so miles away. I lick my lips and try to ignore the cold drip of apprehension at the pit of my stomach. "Dad, I –" I start, and then I trail off.

There, below me and just barely out of reach of the tall streetlights, someone is walking purposefully into the desert, headed straight for the far-off smudge on the horizon that marks the Mystery Flesh Pit.

"Roan, I think we lost connection. Roan? Can you hear me?"

I hang up the call. I spend only a moment thinking before I hustle down the stairs and, quickly thumbing the phone to silent, head into the desert as well, my eyes glued to the bobbing pinprick of a flashlight there in the desert ahead of me.

I made the decision before I had a chance to rationalize it and talk myself out of it. I have my phone, I guess, so I'll be able to record audio, but the camera is still in my room, as is my good voice recorder. Keeping an eye on the light ahead of me I sneak the top of my phone out of my pocket and look at the battery; somewhere close to sixty percent, and I know the voice-recording app that I use eats the hell out of the battery, so I probably won't get more than thirty minutes of audio out of it.

I'm not dressed properly at all and while it isn't unbearably cold I know it's going to get to me after a while. I kick myself inwardly but I'm already about a half-mile out of town, and maybe a half-mile behind the guy, so there's no point to me turning back now. I stamp down the rising head of fear in my stomach – what if I step on a scorpion and it stings me? What if I run into that homeless guy from the drainage ditch and he rapes me?

That last one, at least, I think, would have its own form of justice to it.

Whoever this guy is, he isn't making any effort to hide his movements. Although it isn't quite sandy enough for me to be able to just follow his tracks, he isn't getting down to prevent himself from silhouetting starkly against the starry backdrop of the West Texas hills, and he isn't, as best as I can tell, checking to see if he's being followed. At least, the flashlight he's holding never swings around to point towards me, although I think I'm far enough away from him that he wouldn't be able to see me even if he did look back.

The walk turns into a trudge. It's a long way to the Mystery Flesh Pit; not an impossible walk, but long. I keep losing my footing and tripping over myself and more and more this seems to be becoming a bad idea. How am I going to find my way back? I turn and look behind me, hoping to see Gumption in the distance, but if it's visible it's behind one of the slumping hills we crossed about twenty minutes ago. I want to rest but clearly this guy isn't quite as tired as I am, despite it being...two in the morning already. Christ.

At least I have all day to try and track down the librarian's brother. I'll be able to sleep in, maybe take a bubble bath...assuming I make it back to the hotel safely.

Ahead of me the guy clicks off his light and I freeze; for a moment I think he's spotted me but once I squint I can make out that he's still moving ahead, just without the light now. Before I can wonder why that is, exactly, I realize that ahead of both of us, partially masked by the nearest hill, there's another, brighter light. I drop to my stomach as it turns and points in my direction, and I see the man I've been following hold up a hesitant hand in greeting.

I pull myself forward and up onto a sort of berm and see a small gathering of people, five in total, all centered around one man, holding a much more powerful flashlight than the man I'd been following had, one of those low-slung heavy-duty jobs. I squint harder, trying to will my eyes to work like binoculars.

The guy in the middle is talking, looking between the four others. From this angle their faces are shrouded in darkness, I can't make them out at all, but there's something familiar the one in the middle. I wonder if I've seen him in town somewhere, if I've walked past him on the street...

Oh. Of course.

The face I'm staring at clicks into place and I realize that the man in the center of the circle, looking around at the others seriously, like a leader, is the hobo I saw hiding in the drainage ditch on the way back from the Mystery Flesh Pit.

They're moving now, the light clicked off, all of them ducked down into a low crouch, the man who I'd thought was a hobo leading the way. I can't tell which of them is the man I'd followed now, they distance and the darkness has made them all too uniform for such distinctions.

We crest two hills like this, them leading, cautiously, stopping when the man in front raises his hand and going when he puts it back down again, myself trailing along behind, half-bent and cautious, before we slip over a third hill and I flatten down again, for there, ahead of us, is the tall, electrified fence surrounding the remains of the Mystery Flesh Pit.

There are fewer lights than I would have expected. They're dotted every hundred yards or so, tall imposing fixtures that provide wells of pallid, fluorescent light but leave great blistering swaths of darkness between. There's no trail or road alongside the outside of the fence, but I think I can make out one on the inside, wide enough for two cars abreast, perhaps. It seems utterly deserted. I wonder if I ought to have covered my face, to try and baffle any cameras there might be, but the group ahead of me doesn't seem to be concerned about that, so I put the thought aside.

We've come at the fence at an oblique angle, far away from the main gate, which I can just barely see in the distance, well-lit and secure-looking.

Between the moonlight and the lamps I should be able to tell what the group does from this hill. I sit down, dangle my legs over the side before drawing them in beneath me Indian-style; it's too cold for anything else. At least I have the sweater that I'd slipped on before taking that phone call from my dad outside, but my bare legs are freezing.

The group ahead of me hustles over to the fence, to a small boulder nearly resting against it, and the man in the lead sets the unlit black box of the flashlight down on the ground and rolls up his sleeves and then picks up the boulder and sets it aside. I blink at that but then I realize as it falls over and he reaches down to steady it that it's hollow, like one of those fake boulders they sell at Home Depot to put over utility meters and pipes and stuff in your lawn. Beneath it is...

I again feel that same prickly feeling working its way up my spine. I can feel my mouth drop open loosely.

Beneath it is a dark, yawning mouth of a tunnel, large enough, perhaps, for an average-sized man if he were to drop on his belly and crawl through it. The leader of the group turns to the others and gestures, saying something to them. He seems to be describing a long, crescent arc, and then he points downwards, and the others nods. He pats one of them on the back and stands up, away from the tunnel, and then, one after the other, the rest of them crawl through. When the last one is through, he puts the rock back, picks up the flashlight, and hurries away from the fence, heading straight towards me.

"Damn," I growl under my breath, looking around for a place to hide. There's a bush off to the left that might conceal me if I get behind it quick enough...

I scurry backwards as quickly as I dare while he walks towards the incline of the hill, still looking off towards the main gates, and then once I've put the lip of the hill between him and me, I roll onto my hands and knees and clamber behind the bush. Fifteen seconds later, as well as roughly thirty of my rushing heartbeats, I’m still waiting. I look around quickly, wondering if he changed his course, but I see nothing, the bare rocky hill face is utterly bare. I creep forward a little, as quickly as I dare, trying to look over the edge, but I can’t reach it without getting out from behind the bush entirely.

“God dammit,” I mutter, glancing around nervously. My heart is throbbing heavily in my chest but I try to will myself to calmness. He just - went another way. It only looked as though he were heading straight for me, that’s all. He went a different way, changed his mind, went to go get something. There’s nothing that -

From very close behind me I hear a small mechanical click that I immediately recognize as the cocking back of the hammer of a handgun. Everything goes very still and silent and I raise my hands slowly, not daring to look behind me.

“Get up,” a harsh male voice says. A flashlight clicks on and throws my shadow far out in front of me. I can feel my hands trembling; my jaw shakes as though I were frostbitten. I feel like I might throw up.

I slowly get to my feet. “P-please don’t -“ I start, but the man cuts me off.

“Hands clasped on the back of your head.”

I link my fingers together and do as he says. “I don’t have any money,” I tell him.

“This isn’t a robbery,” he says, and the stab of fear I feel twists, somewhere deep down inside of me.

“If y-you touch me, I’ll -“

“Shut up,” he tells me. “Start walking. That way.”

I glance back to see where he’s pointing and after a moment of hesitation, seeing no way out of it, I put one shaky foot in front of the other and walk.

 * * *

 After about fifteen minutes or so he tells me to stop. I’m still shivering, both from the cold and from the fear. We are very, very far out in the desert now; if he were to shoot me out here, probably I’d never be found.

“Turn around,” he orders. I do so, squinting against the glare of the flashlight. There is a long, long silence and then he sets it down at his feet. He’s holding the gun low at his hip. His finger is outside the trigger guard, I notice.

“I don’t have any money,” I tell him again.

“And I told you this isn’t a robbery,” he says. “Who sent you?”

“Who sent me?” I ask. The question doesn’t make any sense to me.

“Yes. Who was it, FBI? NPS? The Company itself?” I can see his dark eyes shift as he looks me up and down. “I must say, whoever it is, they pick some very underwhelming field agents.”

“Field agents?” I blurt. “You’ve got the wrong idea -“

“Look,” he growls, “there’s no point denying it. There’s no other reason for you to be following me out here. So let’s just cut to the chase. You know who I am. Who sent you?”

“I - I really have no idea at all who you are,” I tell him. I look at him very seriously, willing him to believe me, and I think I seem him falter a little.

“What are you doing out here, then?” he asks.

I open my mouth, then close it again. I shake my head. “It’s a long story.”

“Tell it.”

“I’m a reporter,” I tell him. “I found out about the Pit a few days ago and I decided to come down and see it. Stayed in Lubbock for a little bit, got some tips, some people to talk to, that kind of thing. Earlier today, I drove out here, took some pictures of the fence. Then this evening, I saw someone walking out into the desert beelining for the Pit, and I decided to follow him. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he asks.

“Swear. I’m not - I don’t know who you thought I was, but I’m not here for you. I’m looking for some guy named Peter,” I laugh. “Apparently he works at the 7/11 in town, he used to be a ranger, he was there on the Fourth when the - when the disaster happened. I ran into his sister at the library in Lubbock, she tipped me off. Wanted to ask him some questions about it, maybe do an interview.”

The man is looking at me very strangely indeed. I shake my head. “I know it sounds crazy,” I say, “but that’s all I have to go off.”

“You’re looking for a man named Peter?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Who works at the 7/11?”

“Yes.”

“Because you want to…interview him about the 2007 disaster?”

“Yes,” I say. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He stares at me for a while longer and then shrugs. “Well,” he says, tucking the gun back into his waistband, “you found me.”

 * * *

 "So how long did you know I was following you?" I ask. I take another puff of the cigarette and hold it, then let it out. He shrugs.

"I noticed one of my...guests had a tail, but I paid attention to you and you didn't act like a cop."

"I'm not a cop."

"I know."

He has a low, gravelly voice, but it has a mellowness to it that doesn't make it quite so unpleasant to listen to. He glances over at me every now and then but for the most part keeps his eyes glued to the fence, to the buildings beyond, to the vast expanse of desert within the fence beyond the buildings. He looks over at me. He has very dark eyes and a rough, coarse beard. He hasn’t yet apologized for pulling a gun on me but with the gun away I can feel myself relaxing a little, like this is a perfectly normal conversation and surroundings and time.

Peter takes a long drag on his cigarette and then examines it. His eyes cut over at me.

“Corpus Christi is a long way away,” he remarks.

“Not a very long plane ride,” I point out.

"Even so,” he nods. “Long way to go on a whim."

"I –" I start, and then stop, shrug at him again. "It didn't feel like it was real," I say, going through it slowly in my head. I need to make sure I have my story straight. "I had never, ever heard of this place before, and I grew up here. Not here here but in Texas. I thought it was a hoax or something but the more research I did the more I couldn't deny that there was something here."

"So you flew all the way out here to look at the fence and then go back?"

I look at him, wondering if he's getting at something. "I guess," I say after a moment. "I was thinking that maybe there'd be something here I could do a story on but it seems like all of this is ancient history now."

He laughs. "For some people it is. For others it isn't."

I look at him. "Why are you smuggling people inside the fence?"

He's silent for a moment. When he answers me it's with a question. "When you were doing all your research," he asks, "did you come across a recording of the news that day?"

"Yeah," I say, remembering it. "It was CNN, I think."

"What did you see?"

"Well...I saw a pit, full of blood, and all of the emergency vehicles, and –"

"Was it daytime?"

"Uh. Yeah, it was. Why?"

He looks at me significantly. "The disaster happened a little after midnight on the Fourth. That video was taken the next day, on the fifth."

I frown. "Wait..."

"That's right, work it out."

"Why wasn't there video of it that night?"

"Oh, there was. But it was never broadcast. Same as all the photographs journalists took that night, those were never published."

"What? Why?"

"Because of two things – first, the disaster was horribly mismanaged, and a lot of people died or got hurt who didn't need to, and secondly, because of something that happened later on, after everything was calming down."

"Which was?"

He licks his lips and looks at me. "You could just drop this and let it go. You weren't there, you don't have any connection to this place," he says, gesturing behind himself in the direction of the fence. "Least I don't figure you do."

"You're right, I don't."

"So why? Why bother?"

"I just found it fascinating. I wanted to learn more about it the moment I heard of it." I briefly relate the story of being stuck in the traffic jam and what lead me to make my way down to Gumption, and he shakes his head.

"I'll only tell you this once," he says. "You'd better get out of here."

"Is that a threat?"

"Not from me. But if you stick around you aren't going to like what you find."

I take a deep breath, let it out. I feel very calm, like a still lake is inside of me, untroubled by ripples. "Tell me what happened on the night of the disaster."

He shrugs. "About forty people who'd been injured and put in a field hospital right on the edge of the pit, after everything had died down, got up and walked to the Pit, got down to the orifice, and threw themselves in."

"What?"

"Just what I said. I don't suppose you found that fact in any of the research you did, huh?"

"No," I shake my head. "No, I didn't. But why, why did they –"

"I was there," he says softly. "I was in one of those field hospitals and I watched the woman in the bed next to mine get up, even though she had an acid burn all down her leg that would have made it impossible to stand without excruciating pain, and walk out the hospital. I couldn't move, they had me in a cast rigged up to the bedframe, I'd broken my leg getting out of the Pit."

"Did she say anything?"

"Didn't say a damn thing, didn't even look at me. She was walking like she was in a dream."

"Why did she do it? Do you know?"

"She felt it calling to her."

"Is that what that sign's about, over there by the gate?" I ask. He nods.

"Yeah. Used to be a lot of people would wander up, try and get in. That's why it's an electric fence now."

"How widespread is this?"

"Depends on how you look at it. Not very many people know about it. They took it off of the incident report that was released to the public, none of the newspapers or websites mention it. They’ve done a very good job of burying it."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Cause people would get scared," I mutter, more to myself than to him. "We like to think that we're special, that we aren't animals, but something that can manipulate our minds..."

"Exactly. So they just get rid of it, hope that nobody ever finds out about it."

"But if this many people go missing –"

"I don't think it affects everybody in the same way, or at all. The more sensitive you are, the more emotional, creative, and intelligent you are, the harder it hits you. But it might just be an obsession for a few months before it fades, or it might turn into a pathology, and those are the people who either can't take it any more and kill themselves, or they make their way here."

"And you let them inside the fence."

"Yeah."

"What happens to them, in there?" I ask, jerking my chin towards the Pit. He shrugs.

"One of two things. Either the guards catch them, in which case I don't know what happens to them, or they make it to the Pit."

"And?"

"And if they make it to the Pit, they either chicken out, if it isn't such a severe case that they literally can't any more, or they throw themselves in."

"And you help them do this?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because if it's at that point, either way it'll be a mercy to them."

"What? How do you know?"

Peter chews on his moustache for a moment. I study him carefully. He looks…kind. It’s not what I had expected.

"I used to be one of them."

"What?" I say again. "I can't believe this story you're telling me, it's macabre."

"It's the truth. You're writing a story on this? Gonna put it in the paper?"

"I don't know," I tell him. "I thought I might but the more I learn the more I think I won't."

"Good," he nods. "They'll get you if you do. Bad idea."

"They?"

"You know. They. Capital T."

"The Powers that Be."

"Sure."

"So you help people kill themselves?" I ask. He doesn't look so threatening, now that I've been talking to him for fifteen minutes or so, but he's still a man and I'm a woman, he's still stronger than me just intrinsically, even without the gun. Stupid, stupid Roan, not taking any sort of weapon with her...not that I have one to begin with.

"It's more complicated than that."

"So it's about money?"

"Hell no. I don't take a dime from 'em."

"So tell me."

"This is your last chance to get out. You can go home, you aren't tangled in this yet."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He smiles then, and I smile back, I can't help it. There's a grinding sound, over beyond the fence, and we both look over; a Humvee is driving past, floodlight swinging back and forth along the fence. He nods. "That's the patrol. That means at least one of them made it to the Pit."

"They don't have regular patrols?"

"If you only knew what budget cuts have done to that place. See that fence? Ten thousand volts? They don't even power it any more. Too expensive. They leave all the signs up to try and dissuade people but it never works. All those cameras? Most of 'em are broken, or fake, I can't tell which. Too expensive. They're running on fumes in there. There's no research any more, no search for a permanent solution, they just keep the plant running to keep the thing asleep and keep taking the ballast out."

"Ballast?" I blurt. “They’re still taking it out?”

“Of course,” he says, giving me a look. “Not like they’re going to stop making a buck off the thing if they can help it.”

“I read online that they’d stopped taking it out,” I mutter. “Where does it go?” I ask. “If they’re taking it out.”

He shrugs. “I can’t say for certain. I think probably it goes to the highest bidder. And to my understanding, those bids can get very high.”

“Okay, but -“

Peter shakes his head. "It ain't safe out here. We'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

I nod. "Okay. How will I - ?"

"Come by the 7/11, it's dead all night, guarantee it. We can talk about whatever you want. Just…be careful."

“Of what?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Just - be careful. Don’t let anybody else know why you’re here. That’s all.”

“What do you mean - ?“

“Not now,” he says, then he gets up, starts to walk back towards town. "Come on," he says, turning back around when I don't move. "It isn't safe out here this late," he repeats. "I'll guide you back to town."

We walk in silence for a long while. I shiver to myself quietly, staring at Peter’s broad back. “You know, I didn’t think this little adventure would go like it did,” I mention. Peter lets out a little snort.

��How did you think it’d go?”

“Um. I guess I didn’t think much about it at all.”

“You ought to be more careful,” he tells me, glancing back at me. “I mean, following a stranger out into the desert is a pretty bad idea, no matter how you look at it.”

I swallow hard, try and give him a flippant shrug. I think I don’t make my eyes as insouciant as I’d like; I can see his gaze flicker up to mine for a moment before he turns back around and keeps walking. “Good way for someone to hold you up with a gun,” I suggest, and he laughs.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought that you must have been on to me, I figured you were from the National Parks Service or the FBI or something.”

“Would you have killed me if I was?” I ask, eyeing him. He stops.

“I’m not a killer,” he says.

“What would you have done, then? If I was?”

“I don’t know,” he admits after a moment. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

I just shake my head and keep walking. Peter follows me after a moment.

“Did my sister say anything?” he asks after a while. “When you met her in the library, I mean. I know it must have been her you talked to, nobody else would have known to send you to look for me.”

I think about it for a moment. "She's sorry," I tell him.

"She told you to tell me that?"

"More or less."

"More or less?"

"Well, she told me that if I mentioned she'd sent me looking for you you probably wouldn't tell me anything."

He laughs at that, long and mirthless. "Yeah, that's my sister," he says. "Come on."

The walk back to town is long and cold and surprisingly scary, considering that about halfway through we heard what we both thought was a cougar (mountain lion, catamount, puma, painter, shadow cat, panther...) off in the distance and we both froze. I felt myself huddling closer to Peter, grievously aware of the goosebumps pebbling my legs and arms. We looked at each other for a moment then said nothing. I hoped he wouldn't get the wrong idea.

I try to say something to him when we get back to the motel but he just looks at me and nods and walks off. I realize I don’t know what I was going to say anyway. Eventually I call after him.

"Hey, what time tomorrow?"

He turns around, still walking, and shrugs. "After five," he calls back.

"You want me to bring anything for you?"

He frowns. "Like what?"

"I don't know, dinner?"

Peter waves his hand. “Do whatever you like,” he says, and then he passes around the corner and is gone. I start to yell something after him but instead I just shake my head and go back up the stairs to my room. Inside I flop into bed and then roll over onto my back, stare up at the popcorn ceiling lurking ominously above me, blow a long breath out.

I have two missed calls from my dad, back from when I put the phone on silent, right before I began this whole adventure. I double-tap the icon so that it calls him back, and then after a second I shake my head and hang up the call.

“Fuck it,” I say out loud.

Then I roll over onto my side and try to sleep.

Continue with Part 3

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[buttercupsfrocks]

Hey, Tumblr, did you know that there’s an Interior Design Police as well as a Fashion Police?! Strangely neither did I until I stumbled upon a listicle entitled 75 Things No Woman Over 50 Should Own on the delusionarily titled bestlifeonline.com. There, along with the usual arbitrary selections of sartorial crimes against humanity, (tracky bottoms, skinny scarves, bolero jackets), were the following:-

Tapestries. (What, even if one designed and made them oneself, comme ça?)

Neon signs.

A piggy bank.

Novelty salt and pepper shakers, (Oops!)

A vinyl tablecloth. 

Novelty pillows. (Dang!)

A rolodex.

Indoor wicker furniture.

A lava lamp. (Who doesn’t love a lava lamp? Not this fully paid up B52s fan, I can assure you).

A dish of seashells.  (D’oh! Missed the memo again).

Framed autographs (yep, got one of those too).

Talk about random. And there’s more; much more. It appears I should have jettisoned my giant pin boards at least twenty years ago, along with my magnifying mirror, stuffed animals, coloured pens, fairy lights, frameless posters, cheap mismatched silverware, decorations based on cartoon characters, mismatched towels, striped wallpaper, tassels, and elaborate keychains. (They’d have a blue fit if they knew that one of my keychains has both a twiddly fake key and a tassel on it). In fact the entire website is little more than an endless litany of stuff you should feel ashamed about owning, wearing, and in some cases, even saying. Like I totes can’t say “totes” – me, a writer, who loves slang so much she has at least a bookshelf-and-a-half dedicated to it. I also can’t say: “OMG”,  “humblebrag”, “talk to the hand”, “fauxpology”, “sorry not sorry”, “I can’t even”, “as if”, “sus”, (a term in common UK parlance among people of all age groups for the duration of my lifetime), “ship”, (fuck you; Spuffy forever), and…wait for it…”adulting”, even though I plainly know a good deal more about doing it than the embarrassingly embarassable twelve year old ninny who probably wrote the article.

And still on the subjects of lists that give me the right royal pip, there’s thelist.com. 

“If you are familiar with Dr Martens, you are too old to wear them.” 

I’m sorry, what now?! 

“We know those Crocs and orthopaedic shoes are super comfy, but they're not doing you any favours. There's something to be said for smart, sensible footwear, but you don't have to sacrifice your style and give away your age just to save yourself a few blisters”.

Unless of course you suffer with any kind of condition that dictates you  have to wear fugly orthopaedic footwear, as numerous older people do. And blisters are the least of my problems, bub. Believe me the bunting and party hats come out when I can persuade anything approaching normal-looking footwear to accommodate my orthotics. Doc Martens are one of the precious few options available to me. I am, incidentally, feeling especially “salty” (another word my age precludes me from using), about this right now as, having discovered I can sometimes wear sandals with a moulded orthotic-like sole, these Office sandals... 

...which I genuinely love and desperately wanted to rock this summer, damn near crippled me when I tried them on. 

For all the blather about older women being able to cast off the shackles of convention and wear what we please, (or whatever the expert du jour thinks is within reason), the same unspoken assumptions that prevail in mainstream ladymedia are present in spades on these websites. Nobody reading could possibly be fat, or if they are they’re assumed to be fighting their poor beleaguered bodies unto death. The only chub ever alluded to, (albeit soto voce), is “middle aged spread”, but only the vestigial kind that can be miraculously rendered  invisible by the belting of an “unflattering” oversized garment in the middle. 

“Show off your curves by adding a cute belt to that dress or coat. It will accentuate your shape and let you still wear those comfortable items in your wardrobe without looking like you're wearing a muumuu.”

Never mind that I quite like wearing a muumuu, far from showing off my curves, belting any of my coats would make me look like the Albert Hall, which while undoubtably a Look, is not one I’m after.  

“Balance is important when it comes to crafting a stylish look. Wearing oversized clothing disrupts that delicate equilibrium and unintentionally ages you.”  

What. Ever. 

The hectoring never lets up. 

“There really is no such thing as grown up glitter when it comes to apparel, so it's best to accept that fact and avoid glittery tops, bottoms, and everything else!” 

“Dressing like the '80s or '90s can be fun for a party, but being attached to a trend from your youth can look tired and disconnected and therefore can make one age themselves.” 

“Large prints, especially on a tight clothing item like leggings, are an avoid-at-all-costs look. They are just too loud and aren't a piece that helps you look your best”

Among the ten items everyday.health.com bans me from wearing on account of my encroaching dotage are “too trendy denim”. Apparently I’m “not in my element” with it so my hard work was all for nought. Also verboten are oversized, overly decorated hobo bags, cheap unflattering underwear; (fat chance of finding cheap underwear in plus-sizes anyway though apparently I should do like the Sainted Gwyneth and wear Spanx under everything. Because she totally needs to and I so enjoy colic); and…wait for it…wait for it...  

...“loud accessories”. This includes, horror of horrors, plastic earrings, which apparently I forfeited the right to wear at 35. (Do they count vintage phenolic, bakelite, and lucite as plastic I wonder? Because if enough rich older women get dissuaded from wearing it I might actually be able to afford some instead of faking it). Instead I’m exhorted to make a... 

“Stunning Substitute: think quality and quantity. Limit yourself to one funky accessory per outfit – as long as it’s well-made. Think a leopard-print scarf, thin silver bangles or a gold clutch to dress up nice jeans and a simple top”. 

Yeah, no. And, by the way here’s a picture of Helen Mirren in quite the loudest plastic necklace I’ve ever seen which, as you can plainly see, ages her terribly. 

*snort*

Which brings me neatly to the subject of role models. Dame Helen comes up a lot. Here’s Harper’s Bazaar with some more:

“Pay close attention to the way women like Robin Wright, Julianne Moore, and Kristin Scott Thomas dress. And revel in the moment when you can justify shopping for labels like Céline, Calvin Klein, Jil Sander, and the Row — because not all sweaters are created equal. The Perfect Length (not too long, not Rihanna short), with the just-tantalizing-enough neckline, is more than worth the extra zeros”.  

Wow. So much nope to pick apart in just three sentences! 

Firstly, while I’m sure they’re all perfectly charming, I look nothing at all like any of these women, so why would I aspire to their style? Secondly, they have allllllll the extra zeros in their bank accounts while I have zero zeros. Thirdly, even if I could afford any of those labels, (a sweater from The Row costs well over a thousand quid by the way), why the love of little fluffy kittens would anyone think I want to dress like this?

I mean I know I like an oversized garment but I’m good with Monki, thanks. If that lot doesn’t say, “this was the only shit I could find to fit me”, I don’t know what does. And quite what the tiny, terminally haggard looking Olsen twins, who dreamed up the wretched label, would look like in any of this eye-bleedingly expensive folderol I shudder to think. You’d probably need to send in the fire brigade to find them in all that fabric, poor loves.

At its root shaming-as-entertainment is a tool for capitalism, both simple and complex. Feel mortified for owning something age inappropriate? Buy something new and more grown up, preferably at enormous expense. Or, if pay day’s too far off, invest in some garbage gossip rag and bitch about the state of those richer and more famous than you are. It’ll make you feel great for all of five minutes, then you can fill the emptiness that follows in its wake with some cheap fast fashion or cake. Even though cake is naughty and unclean and fast fashion is killing the environment; but hey that’s what diet books (kerching!) and gym memberships (kerching!) and ethical fashion, (with a cut-off size of 16), are for, right? 

Ironically, in yet another catalogue of grievous mistakes to make once you’re over forty, bestlifemyarse.com includes “neglecting your mental health” and “basing yourself-worth on what other people think”. But how the hell are women expected to do that under a constant barrage of opprobrium, not least since also included in the aforementioned list is “avoiding the scale”?

Tumblr, I put it to you that people are just as likely to buy stuff if they’re feeling good about themselves than if they’re feeling shite. I fucking love stuff but there has to be an alternative way to sell it that’s less damaging to our sanity and self esteem. That’s in part why fat women created their own media. But, the more it edges into the mainstream, the more it it puts the wind up advertisers and those who rely on their sponsorship. So now our message – the one about self acceptance and being able to live unrepentantly in the bodies we have – has been appropriated, de-fanged, and rebranded as “Body Positivity”, an ersatz movement intended to reassure average-sized women fretful they might be a little bit fat, with the added proviso, “as long as you’re healthy”, (i.e not fat). And while the net abounds with token examples of older lady bloggers granted the status of fashion maven, they’re all slender as reeds, and most of them are ex-models. Big fucking whoop. Meanwhile anyone of any age who is objectively fat is “promoting obesity” simply by expressing our personal style in public.

My collection of shells incidentally, includes some my mum brought me back from the Channel Islands when I was a child; a conch a friend dove for  in the Virgin Islands and presented me for my 19th birthday; several beauties that held pride of place in a late family friend’s study for decades; an abalone shell from New Zealand plucked from the beach by my Kiwi pal Di; a sand dollar from Ocean Beach in San Francisco given to me by my dear friend Jude who died of secondary breast cancer a few months before Jane did; some pebbles gathered with my friend Lesley in literal sub-zero temperatures on a completely deserted beach one not-so-flaming June up north, both of us in hysterics over the utter bleakness of it all, and a load more shells from the Pembrokeshire coast contributed by my friend Steve’s departed mum back in the 1980s. Even the bowl itself was given to me by Karen, whose parents found it in the attic of their new house and thought I might like it. It’s a veritable a lifetime in shells; a celebration of love and friendship spanning decades. In short it has meaning, which is a damned sight more than you can say for any of these wretched lists.

Rise above the buzzkill, Tumblr.

[easyhairstylesbest]

35 Valentine's Day Gifts For Those Whose Love Language Is Gift Receiving

Courtesy

It’s cupid’s favorite holiday, so lean into all the sticky sweet paraphernalia Valentine’s Day has to offer. Spoil her with presents doused in hearts, spring for an iconic Cartier bracelet that has ‘love’ written all over it, or give a chic yet practical vacuum cleaner (reserved only for recipients who specifically say they want a vacuum cleaner). Click through for 36 romantic presents she’s sure to love.

View Gallery 36 Photos

1 of 36

Rouge à Lèvres Voile Sheer Lipstick

The lipstick case is almost as pretty as this vibrant shade of fuchsia. 

2 of 36

CozyChic Unisex Robe

Barefoot Dreams nordstrom.com

$74.25

Buy two of these unisex robes and snuggle up for a date night in. 

3 of 36

Puff Daisy Unlined Bustier

Savage X savagex.com

$29.98

Rihanna-approved lingerie. 

4 of 36

Love bracelet

Cartier cartier.com

$6,550.00

Here’s a bracelet she’ll own forever (and pass on to your kids, if that’s in your cards).  

5 of 36

XL Premium Jumbo Wine Glass

Share a glass of wine… or a bottle. 

6 of 36

Spring Matte Lip Shade Collection

Mented Cosmetics mentedcosmetics.com

$50.00

Give her some options to last through the seasons. 

7 of 36

Remote Control Couple’s Vibrator

We-Vibe X Lovehoney lovehoney.com

$119.99

Someone has to take charge.  

8 of 36

V7 Motorhead Cordless Stick Vacuum Cleaner

A fancy vacuum cleaner is a great gift, if—and only if—the person you’re gifting specifically stated they wanted it for Valentine’s Day.

9 of 36

Pure Silk Pillowcase

SLIP FOR BEAUTY SLEEP nordstrom.com

$85.00

Silky pillows instantly make a bedroom more romantic while also saving your hair from morning bedhead. 

10 of 36

Hollywood Frame

Anthropologie anthropologie.com

$32.00

Don’t forget to include your favorite photo of you together. 

11 of 36

Organic Pearl Hoops

She’ll be your girl with the pearl earring. 

12 of 36

135BC 35mm Camera

Holga urbanoutfitters.com

$60.00

For the girl who exclusively dumps film carousels on Instagram. 

13 of 36

Emerald Green Maya Silk Set

Prayers & Plans prayersandplans.com

$193.00

Silk PJs are possibly sexier than actual lingerie…

14 of 36

Poetica Halter Bra

Anya Lust anyalust.com

$325.00

…or not. For a curated edit of great lingerie, check out indie shop Anya Lust.  

15 of 36

Stretch Sandals

Bottega Veneta bottegaveneta.com

$930.00

Heels for Valentine’s Day dinner and beyond. 

16 of 36

Fur Oil

Fur Skincare nordstrom.com

$46.00

Sometimes, everything needs to be pampered. 

17 of 36

Kingston Candle

Bright Black Candles brightblackcandles.com

$28.00

You can’t take her to Jamaica, so maybe this is the next best thing. 

18 of 36

Flap Bag Lambskin, Resin & Gold-Tone Metal Pink

Chanel chanel.com

$4,000.00

If she doesn’t love you yet, she will after you give her this bag. 

19 of 36

Mint SupaBalm

KNC Beauty nordstrom.com

$22.00

20 of 36

Diana Athpleasure Sweatsuit

Sleeper the-sleeper.com

$220.00

Not everyone craves sultry bedwear.  

21 of 36

Ring with Interlocking G enamel heart

The ring she actually wants might not be one with a massive stone.  

22 of 36

Leather Oxfords

Dr. Martens drmartens.com

$130.00

Dr. Martens celebrates the day of love with these low-key heart shoes. 

23 of 36

03 Rose Edition Atelier Hobo Bag

Valentino valentino.com

$2.00

This bag is definitely better than a dozen roses. 

24 of 36

An Essential Diffuser

Predominantly Black predominantlyblack.com

$30.00

Not everyone loves candles. 

25 of 36

Ami Striped Pullover

I fell in love with this sweater while watching Run On and I can’t stop thinking about it.

26 of 36

Portofino Sneakers

Dolce & Gabbana dolcegabbana.com

$945.00

Make celebrating love crystal clear with these hand-painted sneakers, a limited-edition style made just for Valentine’s Day. 

27 of 36

Cashmere Crew-Neck Sweater

Miu Miu miumiu.com

$1,390.00

A little on the nose, but not any less chic. 

28 of 36

UGG Fluff Yeah Genuine Shearling Slide

UGGu003CSUPu003Eu003Cu002FSUPu003E nordstrom.com

$99.95

The love child of comfy and gaudy. 

29 of 36

Embellished Wraparound Sandals

Amina Muaddi x AWGE L bergdorfgoodman.com

$1,490.00

Staying in for the night doesn’t mean you can’t go all out. 

30 of 36

Initial 14-karat gold diamond necklace

Mateo net-a-porter.com

$595.00

They’ll own this necklace forever. 

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Justine Carreon Justine Carreon is the market editor at ELLE.com covering fashion, Dutch ovens, and fashion again.

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35 Valentine's Day Gifts For Those Whose Love Language Is Gift Receiving

[gothify1]

Welcome to our World’s Best Shoppers series, a monthly feature in which we tap into the shopping leaders of the fashion world—the best fashion directors, buyers, and stylists—for sartorial insight on what to buy each season. With spring just around the corner (seven days to be exact!), it's officially time to get our new-season wardrobes into gear with a few key items that will have us looking wholly on-trend . So what should we be buying, Instagramming, and lusting after this spring? To get us inspired for our new-season purchases, we tapped into the world’s best shoppers to see exactly what they’re adding to their carts this March. From trending long shorts to fresh denim silhouettes , scroll below to see what these women—with an eye for fashion—are getting their hands on before everyone else. “I am so ready for spring and cannot wait to wear a pair of cool Bermuda shorts with oversize jackets as a suit combination. Maison Margiela, Valentino, and the new Korean brand Low Classic have some amazing offerings.” “I am literally obsessed with anything leather on leather from the likes of Bottega Veneta and Gucci. It just looks so sleek and will never go out of fashion.” “Another trend I am really into it for S/S 20 is paper-bag high-waisted pants, especially in denim. Isabel Marant and Ganni have great styles you can mix from day to night.” "This spring clean denim is updated with the influence of the ’70s. Flared jeans are the must-have that will refresh your look and work hard in your wardrobe.” “The jumpsuit is updated with utility details for a comfortable yet chic look. Pair it with heels for a cool day-to-night ensemble.” “Dresses are revitalized with longer lengths and romantic volume. Soft movement, ruffles, and fuller sleeves create af breezy, relaxed look. Pair a voluminous dress with sandals for a daytime look or with heels for night.” “The animal craze continues through spring, and I love how versatile these zebra flip flops are. You can dress them down with cutoff denim shorts or opt for a full volume dress for a more formal look.” “We are so thrilled to be carrying Gelareh Mizrahi’s collection on Shopbop! These micro bags spice up all outfits. I am especially obsessed with the Kelly green one.” “The epitome of one-step dressing, and playing into this idea of versatility and practicality, I’m choosing a grey suit. The suit is timeless, but grey is the must-wear seasonal color. We saw this trend emerge during the shows for spring/summer 2020, but for fall, grey was the most dominating color. For anyone who is an early fashion adopter looking to tap into the trend early, this is the piece for them.” “Everyday basics should never be underestimated. Three years ago, wearing a T-Shirt with a suit felt fashion-forward, and now it’s all about the racerback tank top. I love the ribbed fit on this Totême take on the trend.” “Practicality and comfort is now top of the fashion agenda—chic, comfortable and versatile is the ever cool Birkenstock x Proenza Schouler collaboration, as seen on the runway.” “A sharply constructed blazer is the perfect answer to transitional spring dressing. I am investing in Peter Do’s detachable blazer that can be worn in so many ways. A great investment.” “I’m all in on the spring leather short trend. This white Nanushka pair is seriously sophisticated.” “I’m utterly in love with these sleek pumps from Bottega Veneta, featured in an incredibly versatile animal print. These will go with everything.” “It’s all about the ’90s silhouette with these pants. Mara Hoffman got the weight of this fabric right for spring, and the high waist makes it easy to pair with a great basic (like the Good American black crew-neck bodysuit below). It’s a great spring uniform!” “Dolce & Gabbana is one of our best-selling brands, this stunning fuchsia silk cocktail dress is the perfect piece for spring weddings and events. I will pair it with black patent strappy heels for a city party and a metallic sandal for a more relaxed event.” “You cannot get a more timeless piece. I love the graphic print of the DVF Julian wrap dress. Perfect everyday dress for work. Everyone looks great in this!” “Tailoring is my go-to every season, and, in particular, a beautifully tailored suit. This season Wales Bonner adapted her menswear designs with a softer feminine edge, and this suit—impeccably crafted in the United Kingdom—is a real investment piece that I will wear for years to come, either as a full suit or separates.” “Chopova Lowena is a brand I’m very excited about. It has such a unique point of view and really has fun with its designs, which is something I love. This season, I am loving their mix of tartan and organza creating the perfect spring dress. It looks great styled with chunky boots.” “Handmade in Sweden from upcycled vintage blankets, this Rave Review jacket is perfect for the cooler spring days. The eco-conscious label is part of our recently launched Responsible Edit due to its use of sustainable materials and environmentally friendly manufacturing processes.” “A Bottega Veneta hobo bag is number one on my spring wish list. My coworkers and I have been eyeing the slouchy, oversize style for a while, but when its creative director, Daniel Lee, featured the shape in his resort 2020 collection, that sealed the deal for me. This particular hobo features the brand’s signature intrecciato in a bold chartreuse color that is similar to what Lee showed in his most recent runway show.” “Walking is my main mode of transportation in New York, so I invest in at least one new pair of shoes every season. These platform Marni sandals give a subtle nod to the ’60s and will go with almost every dress I plan to wear this spring.” “A Burberry trench coat is a forever spring classic that commands a high resale value. When I was younger, my dad wore one that was oversize and double-breasted. I am just waiting for the perfect one to pop up on The RealReal. I currently have about 20 different versions of that trench saved in my Obsessions Page.” “The Moon Bag is one of the hottest bags right now. I’m obsessed with this black embossed oversize version. It looks super luxe yet doesn’t break the bank. Plus, you can fit all of your daily essentials into it with ease.” “The cloudy blue print on this top is perfect for spring. It’s seasonal and fresh yet different from all of the florals we’re so accustomed to seeing. I also love the flattering neckline and long sleeves and will pair it with my favorite light-wash, high-waisted denim and sandals for an effortless daytime look.” "Agolde is my favorite denim brand right now. They have amazing price value and practice sustainable manufacturing, which is very important to me. The Parker Short is a cult favorite because of its amazing fit. They are versatile and perfect for your spring break getaway." Up next, every cool girl sis wearing this sporty accessory—and I’m 100% here for it .

[crazyblondelife]

Everything Valentine's Day

Some people love Valentine’s Day, some people think it’s a cheesy holiday and some people are indifferent and don’t really care at all. Whatever your opinion, it might be nice to think of it as a special day for spreading kindness. Yes, we should all be kind everyday, but it’s nice to dedicate a day especially for being kind. My blog post last year on Valentine’s Day was a Valentine’s Day Kindness Challenge. So again, this year, I challenge you to take a few moments out of your day to do something kind for someone that needs it. You might also want to show yourself a little love!

While trying to find interesting Valentine’s Day inspiration for this post, I ran across the picture below and did a little research to find out more about it. It’s a flower installation by Lewis Miller who has made it his mission to brighten the day of his fellow citizens’ daily commute. Keep scrolling to read a little more about this amazing idea! It seems to me to be the ultimate Valentine’s Day gift…spreading beauty and making people smile!

“If you live in New York City—or lurk on social media even a little bit—chances are you’ve come across the following strange and wondrous sight: A huge, colorful arrangement of fresh flowers placed at a seemingly random location. Perhaps a larger-than-life bouquet of forsythia and sunflowers bursting from an empty city trash can. Or a mammoth garland of roses draped around a statue in Central Park.

These installations are so striking, they’ve likely caused you to stop in your tracks. They’ve also likely caused you to ponder the identity of the genius bandit behind these glorious acts.

The genius bandit, it turns out, is Lewis Miller, a florist known for his fantastical wedding and party arrangements. Over the last few months, he and his merry band of beautifiers have been stealthily creating what they call Flower Flashes. Their goal? Only to bring joy to their fellow citizens’ daily commutes. “Gifting flowers to New Yorkers is a simple idea that I have been thinking about for years,” Lewis says. “I am in the business of fantasy and flowers, and it’s my job to transform key moments in my clients’ lives into joyful, everlasting memories. I wanted to recreate a similar feeling for the everyday city-dwellers and tourists of New York City.” ~ Vogue Magazine

Sadly, Necco, one of the oldest candy companies in the United States closed it’s doors recently. Candy hearts have a long history, and so does Necco. The sugary disks that were first manufactured during the 1800s could travel so well that they were shipped to American troops overseas during World War II.  Sweethearts appeared around the turn of the 20th century, and in the decades since, Wafers and Sweethearts (which were made from similar, but not identical, ingredients) have earned reputations as quintessential American candies. Before the factory closed, Necco was producing billions of Sweethearts every year.

Scroll through this gallery for some great gift ideas for Valentine’s Day and don’t miss my Valentine’s Day Gift Guides!

Put your most fashionable foot forward in these Cupid approved Valentine’s Day Outfits! Whether you’re going out for a special dinner, or just watching a movie at home, it’s fun do dress up for the occasion.

This casual but so cute sweater from Tory Burch doesn’t have to be worn only on Valentine’s Day and the other pieces will take you right into Spring!

Tory Burch Cashmere Love Sweater, Citizens of Humanity Skinny Jeans, Rebecca Minkoff Leather Hobo, Christian Louboutin Spiked Heel Bootie

Leopard Jeans, Silk Camisole, Christian Louboutin Pointy Toe Pump, 18K Gold Hoop Earrings, Alexander McQueen Purse

J. Crew Sweater Blazer (comes in so many colors), Paige High Waist Skinny Jeans, Saint Laurent Calfskin Camera Bag, Stuart Weitzman Ankle Strap Sandal, Heart Pendant, Love Necklace

Create a sweet masterpiece for your Valentine…or yourself!

This Strawberry Cookies and Cream Cake from Joy The Baker is easy and delicious, and…maybe the perfect Valentine’s Day Dessert!

Thanks so much for reading today! Have a great weekend!

[skyarbor]

The Reason for Prisma's Death?

So I've made a crack theory. It is absolute nonsense: So enjoy! 

While rereading Gloomverse again something struck me as particularly odd: And that is Prisma's outfit. It seems to vary in quite some detail.

Her garment appears to be longer in 'Less Than Human' than in 'Hereafter' and it is missing the openings on the side. But this is not what caught my attention. Her footwear also appears to be different. In 'Less Than Human' it looks like some kind of sandal with one strap attached to her foot. However in 'Hereafter' there seems to be more than just one strap. So we can conclude that Prisma is not wearing the same shoes in these scenes. But why is that? Normally I would just ignore that. Many people have more than just one pair of shoes. But what if shoes were an luxurious good at that time? Well... considering that she is the first leader of the new world aka Gloomverse there is a high possibility that she can afford more than just one pair of shoes. 'So everything seems fine here, right?' I hear you asking. But isn't it odd that she changed her footwear between these two scenes? Both scenes appear to take place within quick succession. Why change parts of your outfit? Maybe she needed to change it to hide these shoes... from someone and therefore she swapped them out. 'But isn't that a bit far-fetched? Maybe it was just drawn a little bit simpler in "Less Than Human"?' Well... normally I would agree with you if it were not for the fact that we have seen these shoes before, haven't we? On someone quite specific. Someone who was involved in Prisma's incident. Someone who wears these shoes until this day...

Yeah, you see that right. Amadeus currently wears the same yellow sandals. But what does this all mean? Why does he have these? Where and when did he get them? I tell you when: It happened right before a scene we are all so familiar with. 

'You got what you wanted...' What was the thing he wanted? If you followed my argumentation up until now, then you will know what my theory is: Amadeus wanted the shoes! But why? What if I tell you that these shoes originally belonged to Amadeus. If we take a closer look at what Amadeus is wearing then we will notice he is not wearing proper footwear but instead he has bandages wrapped around his feet. Where are his shoes? Does he not have any? Or has someone stole them from him? I believe Prisma took them from him before arriving at the Ruins of the Forgotten.

When Prisma got back to the ruins Alpha!Purple/Violet seemed to be concerned about something that involves Prisma. What was so important that Prisma needed to leave the ruins while Yellow was delivering a baby? It was something that involves danger otherwise Alpha!Purple/Violet wouldn't have been concerned. And stealing something from someone who is as powerful as Amadeus is quite a dangerous act. But why did Prisma need these shoes? It should have become clear now that these sandals are not mere shoes. There is something greater within them. Something that maybe holds some form of magical power? A danger that arouses from them. Alone the knowledge of their capabilities appear to be a danger in it self. This would also explain why Amadeus would go after Prisma so eagerly and even go so far as to do something what seems like killing her. After he caught up with her, he cornered her in the ruins, defeated her and acquired the shoes back. You might be asking 'But why does he not wear the shoes then in the scene from "Hereafter"?' Great that you asked! Well, wouldn't it be way easier for him to hide them in his shadow after Prisma gave them back? If he can hide hats in shadows then he should certainly be able to hide shoes in them as well. Why should he drop his guard, approach Prisma and put the shoes on if it is way safer to make them disappear in his shadow. And we can clearly see that his magic/his shadow is leaking in this scene. And if they are really that important, then wouldn’t it be way smarter to get them out of danger?

Others might be questioning the importance and powers of these shoes because of this scene in chapter 'Cupcakes and Rainclouds':

Why would Hobo carelessly drop his shoe if it is so important? Maybe he does this to conceal their actual importance? If you would hide them in some kind of treasure chest, most people would suspect them to be of great importance and would probably try to steal them. But by wearing them like all other shoes, nobody would suspect a thing. Moreover they would probably be the safest by being worn by a mancer. Stealing them would be almost impossible. So this scene does not contradict my argumentation. To the contrary it was included to really draw our attention to Hobo's shoes for the first time, so we could later recognise them. It highlights them. And by showing that they should not be abandoned so easily it foreshadows their later importance to the overarching story. Furthermore there are more scenes in the comic that could be understand as further highlighting of the sandals for example page 6 of the extra chapter (only included in the book). If you still doubt that their is nothing special about them, that they have no magical abilities then I would like you to answer me this: How is it possible that they are still in perfect shape after 1000 years unlike other parts of Hobo's clothing? If they were just normal shoes, then this would certainly not be possible! 

Prisma, the colors and the shoes. For what did Prisma need them? Is there a magical connection between these three? What part does Rylie play in all of this? Through her connection with Prisma she could gain some knowledge of the sandals and their powers... And pose a threat to... who knows! I'll leave it at this point to you to theorise/speculate how everything is connected. 

TL;DR

The shoes Hobo wears are magical artefacts that Prisma acquired knowledge over and stole them from Amadeus. They pose a danger and as a result of that he murdered/did something to Prisma (and probably to the other colors who knew about their powers as well). In order to conceal their importance and to protect them, Amadeus uses them as normal shoes to this day.