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 – everywhere. But I don’t. Because I can’t.
Because I can only tolerate them for an evening out, or a day here or there. Anything more, makes me ache and hurt. Sleek they make me feel, but sore. That still doesn’t stop me lusting after the day that some genius gets it right and designs a chic and sharp high heel so beautifully balanced and structured that I buy a dozen pairs for every day, and more.
Until that day though, my allegiance is with the #KuToo (a play on kutsu, meaning shoes, and kutsuu, meaning pain) protest movement in Japan, against the mandatory wearing of high heels by women in the workplace. What torture to be forced into heels every day.
High heels, they say, can be traced back to 15thcentury Persia, where soldiers wore them to secure their feet in stirrups. Later when the trend reached Europe, aristocratic men (who performed no manual labour) wore them to appear “taller and more formidable,” I read. Formidable? Fancy that!