In theory, I agree with wearing heels. Would I like to be taller? Yes. Would I like to look thinner? Yes. Am I a marginally better dancer (still terrible, sadly) in heels? Definitely.
But then, if I’m wearing heels, there’s only so much dancing that I can do before my feet hurt. And all things considered, I just don’t really want to wear heels. For one thing, I am naturally impatient, and tend to be running late. My usual rotation of Adidas/Birkenstocks/Grensons allows for fast walking, running down escalators, and being that prick who tailgates people in the walkway to the tube (um, sorry about that). On the rare occasion that I do wear heels, I find myself wishing that I could trade places with the girl wearing trainers, who doesn’t look like she tried so hard.
For another thing, wearing flats allows spontaneity. I defy anyone to know, first thing in the morning when they’re putting their shoes on, what they will want for lunch. Sure, maybe I will feel like an enormous sandwich from the place behind the office – I could totally walk that in heels. But what if I have a yen for something else? What if I want a Savage Salad (Google it) from Berwick street market? That’s a good 10 minutes away, 15 in heels, and then there’s the queue once I get there. What if, gone 6pm, I want to meet a friend for a drink, but there are no seats, and my feet hurt – what would you have me do, go home thirsty? I may work in fashion, but I would pick wine every time, guys. Every time.
But my vendetta is not against all heels. I just bought some pale grey suede stacked-heel hoof-y things – sort of like slippers - from COS that I’m pretty happy about. They are both elongating and slightly orthopaedic looking, which is just what I look for in a shoe. And Swedish Hasbeens are worth the painful breaking-in; now, they’re like clunky little wooden gloves for my feet.
I’m also a big fan of heeled ankle boots (a chunky heel, mind you). I am currently experimenting with the somewhat crackpot theory of manifesting my desires until they become reality – my desire, in this case, being Camilla Elphick’s ziggy stardust silver ankle boots. Boots are different, you see; there is no out-the-front foot slippage, no rubbing straps. Not like a stiletto: only regret can come from balancing on a shiv. Unless, of course, the shiv in question is the yellow velvet Jimmy Choo stiletto from the a/w15 Giles show. In which case, bring it on – some shoes are worth sitting out a few dances for.
Heels can be wonderful things, in the right hands – or on the right feet, as it were. Just not my feet. My feet want to be free - I like exploring, going the long way round. To paraphrase Robert Frost, sometimes the road less travelled is more interesting, and less urine-scented, than the shortcut through the car park.
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Picture: Jason Lloyd-Evans
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.