I love them, I hate them. Not that sleek tall feeling when my feet are poised in raised elegance, no – that I want! The lengthening, preening power of a heel can’t be beaten. It’s the other, the doddering, tottering unbalance, dis-ease, dis-comfort, soreness, maybe not initially but a while into wearing – that’s my unravelling.

“I used to wear heels every day,” my friend Sofia tells me.

“It was the norm in those days, you know, the 80’s, and so I grew used to them. Even now (in her late 60’s) I like a heel.”

I don’t believe Sofia’s story. I don ‘t believe that those who wear them every day, don’t experience distress.

Vanity Fair, Palais de la Porte Dorée

Pause, so here’s the rub. If every day, I could slip my feet into beautifully made shoes with elegant 6cm heels, I would. I’d walk in them through the mall, to work, to café’s, on the sidewalks – I’d be loath to take them off!

But I don’t, because I can’t. Can’t tolerate them for too long. I wear trainers, though I hate trainers. I wear flat shoes, though I hate their imbued dumpiness.

When pray, is a genius designer going to come up with a chic, sharp high heel beautifully balanced and structured, so that I can buy a dozen pairs to wear every single day comfortably, when?