Irish Dance Shoes Research Paper

My first pair of Irish dance shoes were a deep, leathery black, and looked as if they never been worn. The leather was smooth, glossy and very stiff. On the ball and heel there were two fiberglass blocks, they were like two perfect lumps of coal. I wrestled my six year old feet into the tight little dance shoes, and the moment my feet slid into place is a moment I’ll never forget. The hard, untamed leather suddenly molded to my foot and became soft and warm. A little buzz of excitement tingled in my toes. It was a moment when everything felt right. The shoes made noise when I walked and I realized I could perform rhythms and click my heels together with stupendous speed. Twelve years later, I am now eighteen. I still possess the same attraction

I love the surge of power that rushes over me when I bang, as the fiberglass tip kisses the floor with a gunshot like intonation. These shoes take me out of reality and fly me to a world of absolute bliss and contentment. I have travelled the world in these shoes; Ireland, Scotland, England, and Canada. My shoes are as traveled as I am. They are now old, worn, and require a cast of black electrical tape to keep them on my feet. They have holes of varying severity blossoming in the soles and sides, emblematic of endless practicing and determination. The heels rub against my skin lovingly, leaving blisters wherever they touch, and each time the broken skin grows back stronger and more resilient. I have spent more of my life Irish dancing than anything else; more of my life living in the world of bliss that my shoes take me to. I put my shoes on every day to travel, to go somewhere. That’s what shoes are for, aren’t they? When I want to go home, I simply have to lace up my dance shoes and together with my feet, they take me there. In my dance school, our tagline is “to see us dance is to hear our hearts speak”, a quote that has spoken to me since I first slipped my feet into those perfect shoes nearly twelve years