I wore heels to the library today.
In fact, I’ve had a most fabulously female-centric day today. There’s been nail polish (including top coat, even), hot wax, lipstick and the reemergence of my more-than-fabulous geisha bag. All of this has something to do with my re-watching season 3 of Sex & The City, I’m guessing. Especially the heels part.
I never wear heels. Certainly not in the last three years, when all of my footwear had two requirements: supportive and easily cleaned. Okay, not so true in the case of my hiking boots which got me through the crazy winters but aren’t so easily divested of the dog poop that would inevitable lodge in the grippy Vibram® soles. But why split hairs? My footwear of late has been practical, durable, and flat. And I assumed that my tall shoe abstinence meant I’d lost all desire and skill in the heel arena.
So, when my mom practically insisted (and she is not an insisting sort) that I buy some lipstick pink three-inch peep-toe Anne Klein numbers for graduation – this before I had any outfit picked out, mind you – I was skeptical and a little frightened. Could I walk in them? Would I look like a rhino en pointe? But the moment I strapped those discounted beauties on my hard-working feet, it was like some dormant shoe monster hidden deep inside me had been unleashed. Not only could I comfortably walk in them – I loved walking in them.
Now I’m on the lookout for heels. It’s like I can’t stop. I found a wonderfully cheap pair of strappy black ones, a bit shorter but really super strappy and only $5, at my local Goodwill! $5! They are certainly not Manolos, which I never expect or really want to wear in my lifetime, or even Anne Kleins, but they are f.u.n.
Back to the library. Wearing the new-to-me black heels, I noticed while I was browsing the stacks that I was using my feet more than I usually would. It’s like when you wear lipstick, which, incidentally, I was, and you suddenly realize that you’ve been pouting and smiling, and pensively pursing your luscious lips way more than is normal or necessary. I was doing the equivalent with my strappy high-heeled sandaled feet – sort of standing in poses designed to show them off, walking with a purposeful and definitive stride, and generally loving even thinking about my feet. Which is a totally weird thing to say, let alone do.
Can I blame all of this madness on SATC, Carrie Bradshaw, and the ever-present specter of Manolo Blahnik? I can try. I might. But I’m also going to be honest and simply admit that I am enjoying rediscovering my girlness. My fabulous side. Myself. Does this mean that I am a girly-girl at heart, and I’ll be wearing all the makeup and heels and satin dresses I eschewed when I fled the corporate world for school and dogs?
Well, maybe today it does. And tomorrow I may die my hair black and get some stuff pierced. Except that I’ve already done that. But you know what I mean. What is really, truly cool about today’s footwear obsession is that I feel as free to pursue it as I will be to get into whatever comes along after it. In my life, there are no boxes to check or lines to color inside. I am whatever I want to be. and I love that.