Tonawanda News — I just spent the day tottering around the newsroom in high heels.
Those are words I never thought I’d be thinking. But with the wedding of my only sibling approaching and a new dress in my closet, I had decided to do my best to look presentable, if not fashionable — and the only other “fancy” shoes I found that day were utterly flat, also torture to my already flat-footed self.
Plus, the heels were on clearance. Worth a shot.
Thinking to “practice” a bit to prepare for the big event, I fished them out of their bag Wednesday and — with much trepidation — put them on. These are not stilettos, mind you, but maybe 2 1/2-3-inch sandals. Still, they were the tallest heels I’d worn since ... maybe ever. Even the shoes I wore at my wedding were lower (and I ditched them as soon as possible for dancing).
My husband the smart aleck told me not to hurt myself as I headed gingerly out to work. Then again, he might have been perfectly serious.
They took some getting used to. I’m sure I looked a bit odd as a I experimented with how to walk without stumbling, lumbering and/or mincing awkwardly about like some demented cross between Frankenstein and a debutante taught to take nothing but tiny steps. My posture felt forced. My feet wanted to know why I was doing this to them.
It got me thinking. Sure, these are nice-looking shoes. But why do we do these things to ourselves?
Of course, by “we,” for the most part here, I mean women. We’re the ones to whom these things are marketed, after all. I’ve seen them dubbed “fashionable” (I suppose that’s true enough by most standards), “fun” and even “professional.”
Well, “fashionable” is a creation of people I don’t care about anyway. Fun? Walking about on your toes is fun?