John Waters turned me onto foot fetishism
“If you go home with somebody, and they don't have books, don't fuck 'em!”
—John Waters
I was 18, working in Sotheby’s newly formed Fashion Department in New York, when my boss decided that we had to have a photograph by director, artist and provocateur John Waters for our upcoming auction. The photo she desired featured a fab pair of Yves Saint Laurent black sequined paillette high heel mules with shrimp coming out the toes, resting atop a book titled The Sex Life of the Foot & Shoe. Because I the was appointed “Hollywood connection,” it was my job to convince John Waters to allow us to auction his photograph.
That’s how I found myself, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan in Sotheby’s headquarters, listening raptly on a landline desk phone to John Waters explaining the ins and outs of foot fetishism. After we hung up, I informed my boss that Mr. Waters had agreed, but he wanted to be clear, this was no mere fashion photograph but an homage to a "shrimper"—someone who derives sexual satisfaction from sucking toes.
At the time of our call, I’d never heard of foot fetishism, even though I’d been stealing my dad’s Playboy magazines since I was 9. Honestly, my parents left me no choice but to seek out educational material on my own. I was left wanting by the comic style books they gave me, like Where Do I Come From? and What’s Happening To Me? I knew there was more information contained in the adult section of our family library which I would secretly consult when no one was around.
In my childhood home, (now owned by Taylor Swift) we had a floor to ceiling wood paneled library/ screening room.*** One wall opened up to a 35 mm movie theater grade screen hidden beneath folding panels. On an opposite wall there were hand cranked slats that opened from inside the projection room. Lining the long walls on either side were rows and rows of books categorized by Subject and Author.
***If you have a HARDCORE membership, you can see photos HERE***
Dad kept the sex books up high, so I stood on my tippy toes at the top of the couches pushed under the bookshelves to reach the bright yellow paperback of Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* by 1960s California psychiatrist David Reuben. I was around 11 and riveted to the descriptions of sex workers, cross dressers, swingers and peeping toms. But it wasn’t until the phone call with John Waters that I fell down the foot fetish rabbit hole.
