My new shoes are sublime. I don’t mean to go all Carrie Bradshaw on the topic, but honestly there is nothing quite like the experience of an exquisite shoe purchase.

I was shopping with my sister today, a pro in the stores if there ever was one. She came to New York for the day to tackle some of our favorite haunts. I knew I’d be coming home with a pair of shoes. You see, last weekend while strolling through Chelsea with friends I spotted a shoe in a boutique window that made me gasp. Soft to the touch. Pointy front. A tiny sculpted heel. A thin, delicate buckle across the top of the foot. This is the kind of shoe that elevates an outfit to another place.

I didn’t make the purchase last weekend, knowing my sister was coming to town in less than a week. I wanted to make sure I didn’t find a pair I liked better. But they loomed large in my mind and became the standard by which all else was measured today. Only one item came close — a pair of Pucci boots at a steep discount in New York’s best bargain store. They, too, were gasp-worthy. I mean, I all but salute when I walk by the new Pucci boutique on Fifth Avenue with all of those bold colors and swirling geometric patterns. But something kept pulling me back to the original pair.

So it was with heightened desire that I entered that Chelsea store and asked to try them on. They were as comfortable as slippers. Ahhhhhhh. My sister nodded, now understanding what all my fuss was about.

“They are so you,” she said.

Yes, they are. And they are so mine.