No excuses here. All I had to do was show up and eat. Which I did. With enthusiasm. Barefoot. (OK, not quite barefoot. In a nod to acting like a grown-up guest, I also put on pantyhose for the day. Turns out they are great for scooting and sliding on hardwood floors.)
In my defense, it was the second time I’d worn these heels since I bought them. On the other hand, I’ve had them since the beginning of September. The only other shoes I bought this fall? Clunky fur-lined clogs with cork soles and cable knit yarn uppers. As much as I’d like to pretend I only use them to run to yoga class, the truth is that I pretty much wear them every day. Every day that I actually make it out of my houseshoes, that is.
Have I really become one of those women? Have I really become one of those women who only wear practical shoes?
Now, I’ll admit that the feminist in me can’t help but raise her eyebrows at the whole “those silly little ladies, they sure do love their pretty shoes, don’t they?” meme. Bottom line: high heels really only serve one purpose – to make our legs look good for men. It’s self-objectification on stripper stilts. Unfortunately, my inner girly girl grew up playing with Barbie dolls and Barbie wouldn’t think of wearing boring Birkenstocks. Then again, Barbie can’t flatten her feet.
(An odd-but-true aside: I once worked with a woman who had Barbie-fied herself, wearing high heels every day for so long that her Achilles tendons shortened and it was very painful for her to walk flatfooted.)
So when faced with a situation where this girl really needs to boost her mojo (this September it was a second meeting with a chauvinist CEO jerk/potential client), I’m probably going to go shopping for some sexy Barbie shoes. And when I post as my Facebook status “It's official: I'm old. After an afternoon checking out footwear at the mall I can definitively say I do not want to buy on-trend leopard hooker heels for a business meeting,” strong, powerful women from every era of my life – from high school friends to corporate executives to my current yoga instructor – chime in with sympathy.
There’s sisterhood in middle-aged shoe shopping.
There’s sisterhood in our love/hate relationship with high heels.
There’s sisterhood in growing out of “the sexy” and the fact that we are powerful enough in our own right not to need it anymore.
At least most of the time.
I’m not saying that when I wear the perfect shoes, I don’t enjoy the kick to my confidence. I might even reminisce fondly about the younger me who thought nothing of riding the Chicago transit system to work every day in three inch heels.
Still I’m thankful that in the life I have now there’s plenty of room for practical shoes. No dress code. Nothing to prove. And I’m thankful that, when vanity trumps practicality for a day, I’m comfortable enough in my own skin to kick those uncomfortable shoes off.
