Aldo

I was on my way to Johnston and Murphy when I stumbled apon Aldo. I was greeted promptly and professionally. I told them I was a Johnston and Murphy guy but liked the way some of their shoes looked. Although they didn’t have my size in several shoes I purchased a pair and ordered a pair. I must say they are difficult to break in compared to my Johnston and Murphy’s. All in all I like them.

I just got hustled big time at Aldo in the Riverwalk Mall. Throwing out a l’il caveat emptor for my fellow shoppers: BEWARE THE INSOLES.
This story begins on Black Friday, as do so many tales of shopping woe: I realized there was a black-​platform pump shaped-​hole in my shoe wardrobe and set about remedying that with a cute selection from Aldo’s website.
The shoes arrived; they were sexily, vertiginously high-​heeled, yet work appropriate. I could see them lending a hint of stripper-​y charm to a white blouse and pencil skirt ensemble. Unfortunately, they didn’t feel equally smitten with me: They tried to slip off my feet with each step I took. To the mall I went, armed with a receipt and a valid request for an exchange.
«Did you try putting in an insole?» the sales lady asked brightly when I told her the shoes were too big. She whipped out a couple insoles, as well as some kind of sticker deal for the back that she assured me would keep the shoes from sliding off my heels.
«These just don’t fit. I need another pair,» I told her, wondering why she was so invested in keeping me with THIS particular pair of heels, like she was a marriage counselor bent on keeping a couple together, even though half of the couple is abusive (The painful shoes half).
I picked out a similar pair, one that I hoped would be my sole mate (sorry).
«Here! Let me put some insoles in there for you!» She whipped those puppies in place before I even had a chance to test out the shoes. «How’s that? Need another insole for the back?»
«No. This is good.»
Reader, I bought them. And though I flinched a little when she revealed the price, I assumed I’d accidentally pulled shoes that weren’t on sale. And when she said my coupon wouldn’t scan, and asked me to come back and use it on a future in-​store purchase, I agreed, even though I knew I wouldn’t fight the Riverwalk crowds or the Crescent City Connection before the coupon expired. In so many ways, I allowed myself to be hustled, and that’s exactly what happened. I take some small pride in the fact that I declined the second set of insoles. Because when I examined my receipt, I saw why the total had been so high:
The insoles cost $ 8.99.
So — moral of the story: Insoles at Aldo are expensive add-​ons, but the sales people won’t tell you that. Also, my new pair of shoes turned out to be torture chambers. I’m going to try to unload them to some poor sap on eBay. See how the chain of abuse perpetuates itself? Maybe we can end it, one review at a time. One can hope.