My Life in Flats...

Ok I’ll admit it, I’m the girl who thinks tall is better. As someone who is just below average height at best (5ft 4), I have lived my life in heels. It’s a mental thing for me; heels affect my mood and my confidence. Call me shallow; call me vain, I don’t really care. All I know is that when I put on platform heels, I feel invincible.

So this season, as show time approached, I gauged my heel arsenal with excruciating detail. The shows are a time to put forth your fashion best, certainly being tall helps show off the clothes, if not, why do we have such tall models? Duh.

Lets not pretend heels don’t matter. They do. I rocked a few days in my Christian Louboutins (yay me!) But after a couple of shows, something snapped. My feet were on strike. No really they were. This has never happened to me before. My feet refused not only to step in a high heel (g-d forbid they over-arch), but my toes had taken on this horrific positioning whereby I literally felt like I was on point in ballet. I can’t even discuss the squashed nail feeling. I can still feel it now.

So on the morning of the next show, I cringed as I surveyed my shoe choice. As someone who is active during a show, mobility is essential. But chic is also paramount. I decided to bite the bullet and do the “commuting” ballet flat scenario pre-show. As an FYI, this is a scene I intensely hate to watch in real life as I make my way to work. Come on, nothing is worse than the trainer with the pencil skirt. And it happens. Way too much.

At about 1pm before the 2pm show I decided it was time to put on “my look”. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of wearing new shoes to the show that day. Totally stupid, yet totally unavoidable. I sacrificed my feet for fashion and they were not going to forget it.

That night at the after party I finally gave up and traded in my pumps for ballet flats. I can’t tell you how short I felt, especially standing among the bevy of models and fashionistas in 5” platforms there. It was an uncomfortable feeling to feel short, almost inadequate, but my feet wouldn’t have it any other way.

That night at home, no matter how many foot soaks I did, the pain would not dissipate. So the next morning I finally admitted defeat and rummaged through the back of my closet to find the dreaded flats.

Sidenote: I’m pretty sure I have not worn flats to work in YEARS. But hey, if they can work for Audrey Hepburn and every skinny jean wearing French woman, they can work for me too.

For the rest of the week, I embraced the flats with volume circle skirts and dresses. Almost a 50’s flair. And you know what? It felt good. Sure I wasn’t Gisele height but at the same time I felt chic in a petite “where’s my toy poodle sort of way”. I felt very prepared to dart the city streets with gusto.

I’m pretty sure that if designers ever decide to abandon the platform (hidden or not), my career in heels will officially be over. Until then, I will learn to value my feet and if that means wearing flats every once in a while I will remember, that it’s not height that makes the person, but the person who raises to heights.