I love shoes. More specifically, I love off-the-wall shoes, and fetish shoes. The off-the-wall shoes fill the anti-authoritarian side of me- why else would a person own poison green sneakers?
(Side note: We were watching something on TV and the character asked, “Do you wear these hiking boots for hiking?” I turned to Andrew and said, “I have lots of sneakers that I wear for sneaking.”)
These are my newest pair of shoes, due to arrive any day now:
[Photo courtesy of Shoes.com]
The crazy fetish shoes have more meaning to me. I sustained a serious knee injury in 1999, and I was told that I wouldn’t be able to wear heels, or walk stairs without serious pain. As a minor, my options were to not wear heels, not walk stairs, and the doctor suggested knee surgery- which might (or might not) have left me unable to walk. I chose to go without the surgery, obviously.
That was the case until 2004, when I began physical therapy (which I pursued after being told by a different doctor that I might not be permanently injured).
I went from having pain after walking one flight of stairs to being pain-free, and able to scale four flights of stairs several times a day in eleven weeks. I worked the injured knee to the point where it was actually stronger than my other knee for a few months.
This meant I could begin wearing heels again. I bought a few pairs of incredibly fun heels (which I wear occasionally), which aren’t the most comfortable shoes, but man, do they get things done.
There is the contingent of people who believe that high-heeled shoes are the modern, Western version of foot binding, intended to keep women hobbling along and subservient. I disagree.
While high fashion may tell us that we should wear high-heeled shoes all the time, I’ve found that wearing high-heeled shoes once in a while is much more effective. It’s the same as wearing slacks most of the time, and a skirt occasionally. I can be seen as feminine without being all Stepford-y all the time.
The social dynamics involved are stunning- I can be carrying the same armload of stuff in slacks, and doors aren’t held for me. In a skirt and heels, I find that I’m not opening doors for myself. This was the case at my previous job, too.
Opening doors has gone from being a courtesy to a political act. When Sam was younger, I remember women cooing over how cute it was that chivalry came in the form of a six-year-old boy. Women were shocked that grown men wouldn’t open doors, but this little boy would. (Go Mom!)
When I was in college, I witnessed the following:
Woman: [Approaches the door]
Man: [Opens door, gestures that she should go first]
Woman: I don’t need you to open doors for me! I am PERFECTLY CAPABLE of doing it myself.
Man: [Stands, slack jawed] I’m sorry.
Now, while I’m happy to wave my feminist flag, what the hell?! I would have yelled right back at her if I had been in the guy’s shoes. When did good manners become oppressive? Since when did performing an act of common courtesy require an APOLOGY? California has become downright upside-down. Topsy-turvy. Higgledy-piggledy.
So, you could say that by wearing crazy fetish-shoes (or heels in general), I’m subverting the dominant paradigm. Bringing back chivalry.
And wearing some wicked fierce pumps.
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