Could my days of skyscraper high heels be over?
High heels are about walking tall, feeling fabulous and exuding red carpet glamour. They are Sarah Jessica Parker. Kitten heels are elegant yet girly and fun. Think Michelle Obama in a prom dress. Mid heels, on the other hand, are suitable, safe, middle of the road and (yawn) boring. They belong with Hillary Clinton, Susan Boyle …. and now me? God, I hope not!
Last weekend I attended a smart graduation ceremony. The venue was Ely Cathedral so I decided to dress up especially for the occasion. It was a great excuse to splash out on a new outfit and of course, as usual, I left everything to the last minute. Just two days before the event, I found the perfect va-va-voom dress in a fashionable boutique in Saffron Walden (yes, there is such a thing!) but then realised I didn’t have a pair of navy shoes to go with it.
It took all my investigative journalism skills but I eventually tracked down a pair online. I wouldn’t usually buy shoes without trying them on first but I figured that, as they were so reasonably priced, I wouldn’t be too out of pocket if they turned out to be a disaster. I did think that the heel sounded a teensy bit high, even for me, but I was swayed by a favourable customer review from A Fifty Year Old Fashionista (or something to that effect) who said she had “danced the night away” in them. Hah! What a barefaced lie. It was more like swaying the night (and day) away as I tried desperately to keep my balance and not topple over.
How were they to walk in? Murder!! Which caught me by surprise because I had actually practiced at home first. Mind you, my practice consisted of going up and down the stairs once and a lot of posturing in front of the mirror. If I had strutted up and down my street, or better still, tried the ten minute walk into the village then I’d have realised my mistake. These shoes are NOT made for walking. They are for hobbling along slowly whilst clinging on to the arm of the nearest male for support. I managed to make it through the day but only because my friends, in a remarkable show of compassion, adopted a similar snail’s pace as I negotiated the pavements of Ely.
What have I done with the offending shoes? Have I got rid of them? Well, no. In a hissy fit, I flung them to the back of the wardrobe. They’re lurking in there with two other pairs of seldom worn shoes of exactly the same heel height. I may not be able to walk in any of them but I can’t bring myself to throw them out. They are so lovely to look at.
This whole sorry tale has forced me to examine the contents of my wardrobe. And I now realise that I’ve been deluding myself all along; my wardrobe is stuffed full of mid heel shoes! How could I have let this happen? I’ve been slowly morphing into Hillary C without noticing. I seriously need to halt this process. That’s why I’m keeping the towering heels for dinner with friends. At least I’ll only have to walk from the front door to the table and then remain seated for most of the night. For more challenging events (the type that requires actual walking) I’m investigating how to look sassy in kitten heels. Miaow!!