I love shoes; I always have. And not just any shoes, but high-heeled ones. I remember when I was nine and my mom had this pair she was saving for God-knows-when; I would slip the shoes out of the wardrobe and prance around the bedroom in them.
I asked my mom for those shoes but she said I was too young to wear heels. Too young?! I balanced so well on them and they didn't hurt one bit.
Something must have happened afterwards because the next time I tried to walk in a pair of high heels-after secondary school, when I had become a ‘big girl' and could decide for myself what I could and couldn't wear-I wobbled around the place.
What! What happened to my nine-year-old balance? I didn't give up, though. Once I got admission into university, I wore my best ‘heely' sandals for registration rounds. They were new and they belonged to my mother-heh heh heh.
But in the end, the laughter was on me. Climbing up a rocky slope that led to the bank where I would pay my school fees, I wobbled, struggled, wind-milled- heels don't fail me now-and fell flat on my face. It didn't help that a group of guys were coming towards me.
They helped me up and were kind enough to pick up my over-large bag and registration files but as they walked away, I heard one titter, "Who send her?"
Undaunted, I stuck to my heels and was determined to learn to be graceful on them. But you can't be graceful on heels in rocky University of Ibadan.
Not too long into my first semester, and after several embarrassing, ill-timed topples, I gave up all forms of heels and stuck to good old flats and chunky brogue-like heels. I noticed the other girls in my set did the same and it felt good then to know that I was not the only one who couldn't face the rocky, sloped roads in heels.
Looking back now, I realise that the reason why we stuck to flats was because they were in vogue. It was the period of thongs and sandals and ultra-casual clothing-three-quarter pants, pedal pushers, spaghetti-straps and sleeveless tops. No one saw anything wrong with wearing ‘palm slippers' to class.
Then came the next year and heels were back, as platform soles. Even in those, I failed woefully; I still tittered and tottered. By the time I was in my third year, I was old enough to not give a damn. I just stuck to plain old slippers and sandals and gave up my love for heels-better that than a broken ankle.
For years after, I went as flat as possible. Even for weddings and church, which were always few and far between, I always managed to get away on some very classic 70's style platform sandals I bought in Ghana.
And still on those, I always had to have the good sense never to walk in them for long, and to do more sitting than standing.
Then came the end of service year, time to go job-hunting and-horror-flats and chunky brogues had finally found their way out. Heels had come back and with a vengeance. Why me?! The first pair of heels I bought post-NYSC was as low as possible, one-inch heels, I think.
I was striving to be on the safe side. After only two outings, the heels began to slope to one side. When placed on their own, the shoes leaned to the left and right on their heels. My friends insisted I learn to walk in heels and be graceful on them too. "You can't look for a job in slippers."
My solution to the heels problem was to get very good wedges and for some time, I did well on those. The only problem being that I had to pack a good pair of slippers with me everywhere I went. Slippers at the door, wedges in the building, slippers at my desk and till I left the building.
Seemed like a good plan, until I got to post-graduate school. This time it was the era of the stripper heels, as my friends called them-six inch heels that had tips so pointed that they could be confiscated as murder weapons.
That was when I really started to curse my feet, my legs, my body or whatever it was that failed me each time I got on a good pair of high-heels.
My love for heels came back with a force and a longing so bad I could cry. Each time I saw my most culpable classmate prancing about in her six-inch stripper heels with all the grace of a model, I would go so green with envy that sometimes, I would daydream of pushing her over, yanking those shoes off her feet and pounding them so hard in the ground that they broke.
Heels, I love you. Why don't you love me back?
Do you have a fashion rant of your own? Please send an 800-word piece to elan@234next.com, for possible publication on this page.
Reader Comments (17)
post a comment
* = Required information