Broke London

A car crash guide to surviving life

How to fix your gross feet

Ok I’m just going to come right out and say it. I have bloody horrible feet.
There you go. It’s out there.
It’s sad but true. A combination of not being overly keen on shoes, being the kind of heinous human who would rather wear no socks than wash her socks and a half marathon I did back in Feb that caused of my toenails to drop off (yeah you heard me) mean that my trotters are about as appealing as snogging Donald Trump. I.e. they’re rank.

To give you an idea this actual exchange happened between MOD and I the other day.
MOD: no way in hell
Me: Why (whiny as usual – I’m so dateable guys, MOD is so lucky)
MOD: Have you seen your feet.
This from a man who once tried to pick a bogey out of my nose for me.  (sorry everyone I know that was TMI, I’m just trying to paint a picture here)
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As the saying goes…when it gets to the point where a person who doesn’t even find snot gross (snot is mine arch nemesis – gag and erlack) it might be time to take an industrial sander to your trotters. I think it’s something along those lines anyway. Side note: how great would that look as a wanky Instagram quote.
And it’s not like I just don’t care that I have the equivalent of hooves chilling out at the end of my legs. It makes me sad inside. Specifically, when they are inside sandals or any kind of open toe job. (Sorry everyone I’m a bit hungover today).
On the contrary, I have sanded these beasts to within an inch of their lives to no avail. You know that bit in the Princess Diaries when Mia’s hair snaps that brush in half (boys see below for reference) …well imagine that scenario with a pumice stick thing from the Body Shop (cough brand ambassador in the making cough).
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They once got so bad that I refused to take off my socks, even in front of the guy I was dating at the time and had to pretend that I was just really cold in the feet and that it was a medical condition and then I panicked that he would find out that there was no such thing which was silly because I think I could have removed my head and replaced it with my bum and he wouldn’t have noticed – that’s how not bothered he was about me. (YAY FOR DATING IN LONDON)
Side note: Do you know how unsexy you look naked except for socks? I do because he kindly painted a nice visual image of it by sending me this picture captioned ‘you’.
So imagine my delight when I stumbled across (googled ‘I have gross feet and don’t want to die alone’) FOOTNER
To my fellow owner of trotters! To the hardened of skin and the flaky of foot! Put down your phones and heave yourself off your sofas! (said in majestic king announcement voice)
Basically go down to Boots and buy it ok.
Right – first things first it is 14.99. I understand this is not cheap. I spend approximately three pounds on shampoo and conditioner combined so believe me when I say I was ready to write a ‘disgruntled from North London’ letter to Mr Footner should this not work.
Needless to say it’s worked like a dream and £14.99 suddenly feels like a ludicrously small amount to be able to waggle my soft pink baby feet in MOD’s face whilst shouting WHATS YOUR EXCUSE NOW BUDDY?!?!?!*
*disclaimer – footner does not stop your feet from smelling as MOD found out that particular day.
Also please compare this to a pedicure which for some reason is always a bajillion pounds and forces you to sit in a chair whilst a lady with perfect skin, hair, nails and boobs (it’s some weird law) has to touch your totally grim feet. It has to be one of the least relaxing experiences of all time. Maybe I’m just neurotic but I spend the majority of a pedicure thinking ‘oh my god she thinks I’m disgusting, she’s going to tell her friends about me down the pub on Friday. Sods law I’ll probably have dated one of them and he’ll have an epiphany and cry out THAT’S WHY SHE NEVER TOOK HER SOCKS OFF’
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Yeah ok I’m mad but you get the picture.
My point is £14.99 is a totally reasonable price transform your feet from objects of revulsion into….um…just feet. Did I mention I was hungover today?
So here is my step by step guide, the idiots guide if you will, to using Footner aka Hoof Sorcery.
Day 1
Open the package and pull out what look like two gigantic plastic shower caps filled with gel. Cut off the top and place feet inside.
Warning: This bit is harder than it looks. May I recommend that you be seated and ready to immediately don the sock (snigger) before cutting these open. You’ll also need a normal sock to go over the top. This helps lock in the gel so it doesn’t spill all over your nice IKEA rug drying into a hard white patch that consequently everyone thinks is jizz when it’s not jizz.
It also worth mentioning that this gel will end up on your socks a bit so if you, for some bizarre reason, have fancy socks or a favourite pair of socks this isn’t the job for them. Pick out the novelty socks Santa got you with snowmen on the front.
Putting socks over your footner socks means you can walk around looking only like you might have pooed yourself rather than someone who has definitely pooed themselves. i.e. it means you can waddle to the fridge and back to eat some comforting M&M’s while footner works its magic.
Leave them for an hour and then rinse them off.
At this point do NOT do what I did.
Do not look pointedly at your feet in a seething rage and storm around your flat hissing things like ‘bullshit’ and ‘LIARS’ whilst trying to find the packaging in order to ring the company and give them a piece of your mind.
Also don’t have this convo with anyone you might be dating or attempting to date
MOD: Why are you so out of breath
MOD: Oh Jesus what now
MOD: What are you talking about? Did you say Hoof??
Me: I KNOW – it’s OUTRAGEOUS isn’t it
MOD: umm
Me: Oh no wait…. wait…no it’s ok. Phew. I found the packet and apparently my foot skin will shed like a snake over the next 8 – 10 days. All the crusty skin will just like peel off
MOD: well I look forward to that greatly.
Day 2 – 3
The skin on my feet is a bit tight and dry but hey what’s new. I’m obsessed with them in an unhealthy way and keep examining them in hopes that beautiful pink baby feet will suddenly burst out.
But alas nothing.
You’re not supposed to moisturise so my feet have got a lovely grey tinge to them and to top it off London has decided to have a heatwave so they are out for the world to see. Fantastic.
I also go to NSF’s really posh work event and end up getting really drunk and telling EVERYONE about my soon to be peeling feet. There is one particularly bad moment when I shout ‘CRUSTY TOES’ just as the music stops.
I’m taken boys – sorry. No don’t cry.
Day 4
There’s nothing quite like waking up extremely hungover to find that your foot skin is basically staging a Great Escape style…um…escape and peeling quicker than you can say ‘oh my god do you have leprosy?’
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Whilst it is horrifying it’s also weirdly satisfying until the moment a particularly large bit of skin makes a bid for freedom whilst I am in the process of crossing my legs in a meeting. It lands on the leg of an intern who either doesn’t notice or really wants a job at our office. Like mega badly.
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I adopt a weirdly defiant attitude towards this incident telling NSF ‘I owe him nothing. He has to pay his dues in this business’. NSF points out that I am not the lady from the devil wears Prada and also that having to deal with my foot skin is above and beyond paying any kind of dues.
Day 5 onwards
I am in a horrific predicament. It is currently about 1,000 degrees in London. My neck is sweating, the tube is an oven and my hair is indescribable.
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I cannot bear to stuff my feet into the hot boxes of misery that are my trainers but equally I fear if I unleash them I will be chased by villagers holding pitchforks and burning torches.
In the end I opt for sandals. Big mistake.
If you are currently eating or drinking anything and the grossery that has preceded this has not yet made you gag a) well done oh strong stomached one and b) you may want to re-think that next mouthful.
By the end of the day the floor around my desk, which incidentally sports a fetching dark blue carpet, is covered in my skin. It is like a fucking anaconda has had ten babies and they’ve all shed their skins together onto the office floor.
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My feet are not this big. How can this be happening?!
Thank god for the British inability to point anything out or say anything to their work colleagues other than ‘gosh…hot today isn’t it’.  We are all pointedly ignoring the repulsiveness that is my feet and that’s just FINE with me.
Day 6
My feet are the flakiest of flakes STILL. I was expecting baby soft feet by now but instead I have hard, grey calloused claws that are shedding skin like confetti at the world’s most hideous wedding.
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What I will say though is that where my old skin has bid me adieu there’s some lovely soft pink normal human looking skin. A bit like a reverse Maleficent effect. I have shed my scales and am emerging a beautiful princess.
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Incidentally I image that’s not what MOD considered me to look like last night as I sat, hungover as sin, smelling like wine and peeling large bits of skin off my foot.
Sorry I just made myself feel ill so I can’t imagine how you’re getting through this.
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So I’m not quite done with the Footner experience however the proof is in the flaky pudding (gag again). I can see a light at the end of the tunnel that no pedicure has ever provided and I’ll be sure to update you all on how nice my feet look after this hideous process has completed.
In the meantime, you can pick up your own footner here.
Ps: stop tutting and making sick faces. If you made it this far you’re a horrible little goblin like me and just be thankful I didn’t include pictures. EVERY CLOUD.
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