N.B. The Manolo’s internet friend Heather is not only the shoe-lover’s shoe lover, she is also the true deadpan wit, as you will see in this second installment in the Manolo’s Guest-blog-a-palooza.
High, elegant, in-step curving, vertiginous heels. I want ‘em. I buy ‘em. I can’t wear ‘em.
They line my closet shelves, singing their siren calls of elongated legs and a sexy pelvic tilt, mocking me with the knowledge that nothing about sad limping and oozing blisters is sexy. I fire back with every heel pad and shoe stickum thing on the market, but no. The burning of the balls of my feet beats me every time.
Sure, there are some heels I can manage and even find comfortable. God bless Stefano Pilati at YSL and Alber Elbaz at Lanvin and whomever they have hired to design their shoes…
YSL Tribute Sandals are an absolute staple in my closet – I own four pairs in different colors.
The woven satin Lanvin platforms – another slam-dunk winner.
So I’ve learned, platforms are important for me.
Thin soles KILL me and the platform gives me height without putting the burden solely (Ha! A pun!) on the pitch and the poor ball of my foot. (Of course, we all know how Maestro Manolo Blahnik feels about platforms.)
So what do I do? Do I limit my purchases to things I know I can manage? I wish that were the case!
Right now, my closet boasts a pair of Alaia Snow Leopard hiking booties and a pair of Theyskens Theory Velvet Wedge pumps.
I LOVE them! I want to wear them. I want to show them off to everyone. I don’t want to need an orthopedic device afterwards. Neither pair has been taken out of their box. They are each nestled in their tissue lined boxes – taunting me.
Don’t try to convince me that everyone suffers for high heels. I know that isn’t true.
Meet my sister. I swear she was born with Barbie feet. You know, the ones that, even when naked are permanently arched so as to fit only into heels?
I think my sister is more comfortable in heels than she is in flats.
And here is my sister’s other genetic gift. We wear the same size.
I buy these beauties. Ogle them in my closet. Caress them before getting dressed. Totter around my bedroom in them before thinking better of it and returning them to the box. Eventually, the shoes are packed into a shipping box and sent off to live out the rest of their natural life with my sister. I love my sister. I want her to be happy. But supplying her is not why I buy these shoes.
You know what? I want a class! There are all sorts of other programs offered to women who want to make changes in their lives. You can take fitness classes, you can take dance classes, you can take life guidance classes, you can take art classes. Where are the heel walking classes? Why is my local Y not offering such things? Can I hire a personal instructor? Hey! My sister is a personal trainer and she can walk in heels. I wonder if she’s ever thought to combine the two.
Seriously, I’ve invested thousands in shoes that have only ‘visited’ with me. I have treasures in my closet right now awaiting word of their fate. I’m an educated person. I’m physically fit.
Why can’t I learn this one thing?