THE TRUE STORY OF THE CUTE

(the wild story of a pump that drives you crazy)

This is the story of an open-toe pump with a 7 centimeter heel called Cute. And Cute begins as a beautiful story.

I was driving around in my white Beetle in the Colombian Andes, somewhere north of Medellin. The sun was about to set and I was taking advantage of my freedom and tiredness to stop on a ledge following an engine trouble.

There, lay before my eyes the most beautiful sight on earth. I took out my hammock stove and my bottle of rum. After a few swigs of this delicious beverage, I grabbed my guitar to compose a hymn to the beauty of our planet.

As I settled into my hammock, suspended between two trees as sturdy as Timothée Chalamet, I felt the gentle Andean breeze caress my face.

I had chosen this particular spot for its exceptional panorama: in front of me, the peaks of the Andes stretched out in a tranquil majesty, while the waning sun cast shades of gold and crimson hues on the clouds. It was a masterpiece of nature, and here I was, alone, contemplating it.

I picked up my guitar again. The first notes echoed in the cool evening air, melancholic and sweet.

It was as if each string vibrated in harmony with my heartbeat. I was composing a hymn to the beauty of our planet, a song that rose and fell like the waves of the ocean of greenery that surrounded me.

As night fell, something magical began to happen.

Creatures of the night, drawn by the melody of my guitar, began to emerge from the darkness. First, fireflies, their lights dancing around me, forming a glittering aura. Then a quetzal, with its bright green feathers, alighted on a nearby branch, watching me curiously.

But that wasn't all. A comical-looking sloth slowly approached, its little eyes sparkling with mischief. And, in an almost unreal movement, a jaguar emerged from the shadows. Its fur glistened in the moonlight, and its intense yellow eyes stared back at me. I held my breath, but there was no fear, only a sense of wonder. And just as I was about to open my arms to welcome their love, the leader of the beasts stepped in to speak: "We don't need a chick playing Wonderwall to replace the silence. Put away your ax or die a miserable death".

At that moment, instead of panicking, or jabbing an instrument into its cute little face, an idea sprang to mind.

I visualized a pump, not just any pump, but one that would embody the very essence of that magical night. An open-toe pump, adorned with a sparkling star in glitter on top, reminiscent of the fireflies that had surrounded me whose leader wanted to slaughter me. Its 7 centimeter heel would be both elegant and sturdy, unlike the trees that protected me.

I imagined this pump as a symbol of strength and hope

As a talisman that would remind anyone who wore it of that night when nature and humanity met in harmony.
It would be not just a fashion accessory, but a message of unity and beauty, a reminder that even in the darkness, there is always light.

I finally fell asleep, lulled by sounds of the forest and the memory of these benevolent creatures.

In my dream, I walked proudly in my magic pumps, each step a hymn to the beauty of our world, each stride a step towards hope and harmony.
Long live the Cute and long live my head gasket, without which none of this would have been possible.

You may have guessed that the most appropriate music for my adventure would be this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVyS9JwtFoQ