A letter from a reader

At 62, I had started dreading a long day out. It was my feet.

I almost did not write this down, because it is only a pair of shoes and I am not the sort of woman who gets excited about that sort of thing any more. But three different people stopped to ask me about them at the garden centre on Saturday, and when that happens at 62 you start to think there might be something in it.

For a good while my feet had quietly started to run the show. A morning in town, a wander round the shops, a day out with the grandchildren, and by the afternoon I was counting the minutes until I could sit down and slip my shoes off. The comfortable ones I could find all looked like something from a hospital ward, and the nicer ones punished me for wearing them. So I did what a lot of us do. I stayed in more, said no to the longer days, and told myself I had simply got to that age.

I had decided the choice was comfortable and frumpy, or presentable and in pain. I did not think you were allowed both.

So I stopped looking forward to the days that meant a lot of walking, and just got through them.

Then I saw them on a friend

A friend of mine had a pair on at a coffee morning and told me she had been on her feet all day without a grumble. They are from Nottingham Boutique, a little boutique that has been quietly looking after women our age for a few years, and they had their summer sale on. They are called the Macy, a soft slip on trainer, and they come in five colours. I ordered a green pair that same evening before I could talk myself out of it.

What happened at the garden centre

I wore them all round the garden centre the next weekend, not expecting to think about them at all, which turned out to be the whole point. Instead, three separate women came over to ask me where they were from. Three. My friend Sue said I looked like I had actually enjoyed myself for once, which I had, because I was not counting down to a sit down.

That was the moment it clicked for me. I had spent a couple of years believing sore feet were just my lot now, and here was a simple pair of shoes that quietly proved me wrong.

Three things I have learned since

One. It is the sole that does the work. There is a cushioned, springy sole that seems to soak up hard shop floors and pavements, so my feet and my knees are not jarred with every step.

Two. Slipping them on is a small mercy. They pull straight on, no laces, no bending down and fiddling, which on a stiff morning matters far more than I would have admitted a few years ago.

Three. They look like normal shoes. That is the bit I did not expect. They are soft and light with a bit of proper support, and nobody looking would ever call them a comfort shoe. They just look like something I chose.

About the price

I will be honest, when I saw how little they were I was a bit suspicious. Shoes that actually look after your feet usually come with a price to match.

The Macy is £24.95. It was £50.00.

There was no catch. They arrived quickly, they were comfortable from the very first day with no breaking in, and they looked exactly like the picture, which we all know is not always the way.

I did go and read the reviews before I ordered a second pair in the grey. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some sites, which if I am honest made me trust it more. One woman had written, "First pair in years I can wear all day without my feet or my bunions complaining, and they are not ugly." That was the one that decided it for me.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you were sitting across from me with a cup of tea, I would not give you a sales pitch. I would just say that I had quietly started shrinking my days to fit my feet, and one comfortable pair of shoes gave me back the longer ones.

Order your usual size, pick the colour that makes you smile, and give your feet an easier day.

It is the rarest kind of shoe. The one that stops your feet aching and still looks like something you chose.

Caroline