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!
Le soutien-gorge, the French call it, literally “throat support,” – “bra” in common parlance. Support is what it purports to give, but “upper-body-clamp” is more apt.
Some days, the straps dig into my shoulders sending pain streaming up my neck. Other days my empire line feels braced in a wide elasticated band that shifts up and down, unable to settle. I tell myself it’s about finding the right shape, design, model … but in truth they all suck.
I wear one every day though I resent it. I resent it, but resentment pails next to the angry-irritation I feel at being unable to just give it up, throw them all away and be done. Too strong the brain-washing of the years, the socialization that has me in its grip.
We women have worn girdles, and corsets. Bras and shapewear like Spanx. Uncomfortable, constraining, constricting, cinching… need I say more?
Yoga is sexy, that’s it – period.
There I was last evening, after months and months of doing nothing – finally back on my mat. I couldn’t believe it – it’s so easy to forget – the deliciousness of streeetching my side body, reeeeaching my arm outward, opening my heart to the heavens, standing strong and long becoming a mighty warrior – sooo coooool.
Sexy is the feeling in the body of being switched on. The zzzzz coursing under the skin. Sensual awareness flickering. Silky energy quietly purring. The stuff that modern, urban-jungle lifestyle, working in an office all day dims, even occasionally insidiously shuts down.
Something about flowing through poses, can sometimes, not every time, but often enough, connect all the synapses of the body with the interior self, making me brrr with aliveness.