I have culled many items of my past. The hardest ones have been “luxury” items from the days of making 7-figures and a time where I spent money on things because they reflected who I was. Or so I thought.

There was a time when walking into a store and spending money on clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry was what I did and it reinforced the image of who I was in business. When I first started my career as a headhunter I had to “buy into” a look. I was working with clients and candidates who made high six and seven figures and I was scrapping together Banana Republic and JCrew.

My first female boss bought me my first pair of Prada shoes. I was over the moon. They felt so special. I felt important when I wore them. Shoes and bags were an easy way to look more professional and accomplished even without a better wardrobe.

I also grew up in the time of Sex in the City, where a starving writer had a closet full of Manolo Blahniks. Shoes meant so so much.

These shoes have been in bars in New York, the Streets of Hong Kong, the nightclubs of Bali.

The pink Miu Mius.

The Zebra Dolce & Gabbanas.

The perfect Gucci strappy sandal.

Possibly my favorite sandals of all time the beige Narcisso Rodriquez.

The red Louis Vuitton.

And my favorite heels of all time, my black eel skin Dolce and Gabbanas.

If you look closely you will see I have trashed these shoes.

I haven’t worn them in years.

Some are broken.

And yet I kept them.

I couldn’t let them go.

After I left my career on Wall Street I didn’t know if I would ever be able to afford an $800 pair of shoes again.

What I didn’t know is that I would never want to.

But the shoes represent a me that is barely a ghost now.

A certain version of Perri who is gone and in a way I have been holding onto the last remnants of her. The last remnants of a time when I was wild and miserable and a loose cannon and deeply misunderstood.

And somehow I was also crushing it.

I was living the life that most people dream of and never have.

And some part of me was so comfortable there. Even in the misery.

Letting the shoes go is yet another dying of that version of me.

Last year I sold my Rolex.

Not because I needed to but because it finally released me.

At the end of my 2 years off in Hong Kong, I knew it would be expensive to get back to the US.

I had been living off my savings and was trying to do projects.

The Rolex was symbolic.

If I couldn’t make money to get home I could always sell my Rolex.

It was a last bastion of safety.

The status symbol I had paid cash for on a lunch hour in Hong Kong became my get out of jail card.

My just in case.

I sold it because when I looked at it, it was no longer “me”.

I didn’t need it to keep me safe. I didn’t need people to know I had an expensive watch.

Today I let these ladies go.

No more plans to repair them. No holding them for “the future”.

All but one.

My Louboutains.

The last pair of shoes I bought before I quit my career.

The last pair of expensive shoes I bought in June of 2008.

They were $865.

They are the sexiest shoes I have ever owned. I think these I just love for them, their beauty, their erotic nature not because of what they mean about me.

Kellen likes these too. 😉

// What are you holding onto that you need to let go of?

I have culled many items of my past. The hardest ones have been “luxury” items from the days of making 7-figures and a time where I spent money on things because they reflected who I was. Or so I thought.

There was a time when walking into a store and spending money on clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry was what I did and it reinforced the image of who I was in business. When I first started my career as a headhunter I had to “buy into” a look. I was working with clients and candidates who made high six and seven figures and I was scrapping together Banana Republic and JCrew.

My first female boss bought me my first pair of Prada shoes. I was over the moon. They felt so special. I felt important when I wore them. Shoes and bags were an easy way to look more professional and accomplished even without a better wardrobe.

I also grew up in the time of Sex in the City, where a starving writer had a closet full of Manolo Blahniks. Shoes meant so so much.

These shoes have been in bars in New York, the Streets of Hong Kong, the nightclubs of Bali.

The pink Miu Mius.

The Zebra Dolce & Gabbanas.

The perfect Gucci strappy sandal.

Possibly my favorite sandals of all time the beige Narcisso Rodriquez.

The red Louis Vuitton.

And my favorite heels of all time, my black eel skin Dolce and Gabbanas.

If you look closely you will see I have trashed these shoes.

I haven’t worn them in years.

Some are broken.

And yet I kept them.

I couldn’t let them go.

After I left my career on Wall Street I didn’t know if I would ever be able to afford an $800 pair of shoes again.

What I didn’t know is that I would never want to.

But the shoes represent a me that is barely a ghost now.

A certain version of Perri who is gone and in a way I have been holding onto the last remnants of her. The last remnants of a time when I was wild and miserable and a loose cannon and deeply misunderstood.

And somehow I was also crushing it.

I was living the life that most people dream of and never have.

And some part of me was so comfortable there. Even in the misery.

Letting the shoes go is yet another dying of that version of me.

Last year I sold my Rolex.

Not because I needed to but because it finally released me.

At the end of my 2 years off in Hong Kong, I knew it would be expensive to get back to the US.

I had been living off my savings and was trying to do projects.

The Rolex was symbolic.

If I couldn’t make money to get home I could always sell my Rolex.

It was a last bastion of safety.

The status symbol I had paid cash for on a lunch hour in Hong Kong became my get out of jail card.

My just in case.

I sold it because when I looked at it, it was no longer “me”.

I didn’t need it to keep me safe. I didn’t need people to know I had an expensive watch.

Today I let these ladies go.

No more plans to repair them. No holding them for “the future”.

All but one.

My Louboutains.

The last pair of shoes I bought before I quit my career.

The last pair of expensive shoes I bought in June of 2008.

They were $865.

They are the sexiest shoes I have ever owned. I think these I just love for them, their beauty, their erotic nature not because of what they mean about me.

Kellen likes these too. 😉

// What are you holding onto that you need to let go of?