Hierarchy of Heels
(As seen on Kahnversyneergy, January 31, 2006)
Anyone who knows me at all knows about my passion for taking care of my body in order to further my technique as a dancer. Thus my lifestyle must reflect this. So, naturally, I must have comfortable shoes for my feet in order to keep up with the constant rigor that dance technique demands on it's perfectionists. A friend of mine once declared that one day she would find me with very expensive shoes, ergonomically designed for my feet.
And alas, that day has come. My little red earth shoes,(i tell my rabbis little daughter they are my princess shoes when I see her at shul)designed to create good posture, a harmonious lower back experience and overall comfort for the chi, vegan even!! They sit in my closet contently, probably thankful I have many articles of clothing that match their bright color. They are cute. Unique. Stylish. Comfortable. As my 'vogue' brother would say, "they are within SFF code. Style, form and function." The 3 most important questions when buying new kicks.
If you look at my wardrobe, you will see a thread of similarity on the floor amongst the shoes. I definitely like to be grounded when walking. I like color. Comfort. Artistic expression can extend to all limbs of the body.
So my feet can have it all, right? But as of late, I seem to have entered a new genre of life....the post college, single, (as in not married Neer fans) young, empowered professional. What does this mean? A level of status. Regular paychecks. An office, desk, computer, my own voicemail! Meetings. Emails. Business casual. Conferences. Analytical conversations.
What is missing from this equation?
3 inch high heeled shoes.
Yes, my friends. A status symbol that has somehow sustained the modern female, even post feminist intense movement.
I am not sure what it was that caused me to decide that I must have high heels, but as soon as I saw the sale, I marched into Nine West, on a mission.
Cheapest price. Comfortable as possible. CUTE. CUTE. CUTE. (I seemed to have forgotten my brother's fool proof formula as soon as I saw the reflection in the mirror.) My sister's squealing definitely didn't help the resistance. And then, my outer monologue battle began......"I don't know, " I reasoned. "They are kind of high. But they are so cute! They might really hurt my feet. But they are so cute! Where can I walk in them? Ah, they are so cute! Won't they be uncomfortable? But I love them! They are so cute!" Sure, they were definitely much higher than I had ever worn before, but I am an adult. I am powerful. I have a BA from Columbia College Chicago. I have earned the right to prance.I walked out of the store, bag in hand. It seemed the style and form team had won, 4-0.
Later that week, when I "pranced" to the Green Mill to meet a friend, my feet started to hurt. Ache even. Then my knees started feeling weak. This was hardly in the disclaimer when the store clerk announced the terms of agreement for returns, which included not wearing the shoes outside. As soon as I got to the bar, I wanted a stool more than a drink. But alas, we had gotten there late (probably due to my lag time on account of 3 inches below my heels) and all seats were taken. I surveyed the crowd, ready to beg an understanding female for her empathy and see if she would give up her seat for my poor soles. I could locate no one.
Since I couldn't return the shoes, I figured my co-worker, an amazing ballroom/salsa/bellydancing girl would want to invest in such a pretty pair of heels. I brought them to work, promising to name a good price especially for her. As she walked around, a familiar dialogue began bouncing off the walls....."They are kind of high. But they are so cute! They might really hurt my feet. I can walk in them. They are so cute! They do fit my feet... Ah, they are so cute! Won't they be uncomfortable? But I love them! They are so cute! I do need good black shoes...."
As I waited for her inevitable trial run to conclude, I wondered if I actually wanted to give up the shoes. I could wear them to dinner. But no dancing. Cabs would be the only mode of transportation...couldn't even drive stick in them. Meetings at work, yes, definitely.....wait, no, I already decided to sell them, what am I thinking about??!!!!
Rachel appeared back in my office. "Man, they are so cute. But I just can't justify wearing them. I do have plantar fasciitus. Here you go." She walked out of my office, liberated from her struggling monologue. (Did the battle only happen when they are on your feet, I wondered?)
I think I should have handed the shoes to the store clerk and said exactly what Rachel proclaimed to me. Maybe next time, I will. But instead, I now own the cutest and highest pair of high heels I've ever had. Don't tell my napropath. In the meantime, I think I will work on getting someone to take me to dinner. He's driving.
(As seen on Kahnversyneergy, January 31, 2006)
Anyone who knows me at all knows about my passion for taking care of my body in order to further my technique as a dancer. Thus my lifestyle must reflect this. So, naturally, I must have comfortable shoes for my feet in order to keep up with the constant rigor that dance technique demands on it's perfectionists. A friend of mine once declared that one day she would find me with very expensive shoes, ergonomically designed for my feet.
And alas, that day has come. My little red earth shoes,(i tell my rabbis little daughter they are my princess shoes when I see her at shul)designed to create good posture, a harmonious lower back experience and overall comfort for the chi, vegan even!! They sit in my closet contently, probably thankful I have many articles of clothing that match their bright color. They are cute. Unique. Stylish. Comfortable. As my 'vogue' brother would say, "they are within SFF code. Style, form and function." The 3 most important questions when buying new kicks.
If you look at my wardrobe, you will see a thread of similarity on the floor amongst the shoes. I definitely like to be grounded when walking. I like color. Comfort. Artistic expression can extend to all limbs of the body.
So my feet can have it all, right? But as of late, I seem to have entered a new genre of life....the post college, single, (as in not married Neer fans) young, empowered professional. What does this mean? A level of status. Regular paychecks. An office, desk, computer, my own voicemail! Meetings. Emails. Business casual. Conferences. Analytical conversations.
What is missing from this equation?
3 inch high heeled shoes.
Yes, my friends. A status symbol that has somehow sustained the modern female, even post feminist intense movement.
I am not sure what it was that caused me to decide that I must have high heels, but as soon as I saw the sale, I marched into Nine West, on a mission.
Cheapest price. Comfortable as possible. CUTE. CUTE. CUTE. (I seemed to have forgotten my brother's fool proof formula as soon as I saw the reflection in the mirror.) My sister's squealing definitely didn't help the resistance. And then, my outer monologue battle began......"I don't know, " I reasoned. "They are kind of high. But they are so cute! They might really hurt my feet. But they are so cute! Where can I walk in them? Ah, they are so cute! Won't they be uncomfortable? But I love them! They are so cute!" Sure, they were definitely much higher than I had ever worn before, but I am an adult. I am powerful. I have a BA from Columbia College Chicago. I have earned the right to prance.I walked out of the store, bag in hand. It seemed the style and form team had won, 4-0.
Later that week, when I "pranced" to the Green Mill to meet a friend, my feet started to hurt. Ache even. Then my knees started feeling weak. This was hardly in the disclaimer when the store clerk announced the terms of agreement for returns, which included not wearing the shoes outside. As soon as I got to the bar, I wanted a stool more than a drink. But alas, we had gotten there late (probably due to my lag time on account of 3 inches below my heels) and all seats were taken. I surveyed the crowd, ready to beg an understanding female for her empathy and see if she would give up her seat for my poor soles. I could locate no one.
Since I couldn't return the shoes, I figured my co-worker, an amazing ballroom/salsa/bellydancing girl would want to invest in such a pretty pair of heels. I brought them to work, promising to name a good price especially for her. As she walked around, a familiar dialogue began bouncing off the walls....."They are kind of high. But they are so cute! They might really hurt my feet. I can walk in them. They are so cute! They do fit my feet... Ah, they are so cute! Won't they be uncomfortable? But I love them! They are so cute! I do need good black shoes...."
As I waited for her inevitable trial run to conclude, I wondered if I actually wanted to give up the shoes. I could wear them to dinner. But no dancing. Cabs would be the only mode of transportation...couldn't even drive stick in them. Meetings at work, yes, definitely.....wait, no, I already decided to sell them, what am I thinking about??!!!!
Rachel appeared back in my office. "Man, they are so cute. But I just can't justify wearing them. I do have plantar fasciitus. Here you go." She walked out of my office, liberated from her struggling monologue. (Did the battle only happen when they are on your feet, I wondered?)
I think I should have handed the shoes to the store clerk and said exactly what Rachel proclaimed to me. Maybe next time, I will. But instead, I now own the cutest and highest pair of high heels I've ever had. Don't tell my napropath. In the meantime, I think I will work on getting someone to take me to dinner. He's driving.
posted by ImperfectArtist at 10:41 AM
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