Why I stopped wearing heels (and why I’m never going back)
Why I stopped wearing heels (and why I’m never going back)
This piece originally appeared on Femspain.com is a community for everyone, powered by personal stories from anyone female-identified. It has been giver minor edits before reposting.
Truth be told, I’ve never been the kind of girl who wears high heels for every occasion. I attended high school in an affluent community nestled into the Bay Area of Northern California, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. A small population of my classmates would wear high heels to school, clacking their way through the tiled hallways and concrete staircases of our two-story building. Back and forth, up and down, their footfalls echoed in our unforgiving hallways as I’d walk comfortably by them, truly baffled. I would look at these girls and wonder how anyone could spend all day long traipsing around to all of their classes balanced on the balls of their feet.
However, I found myself neatly setting these sentiments aside when I’d attend special occasions. If I thought that most of the women in attendance at a particular event would be in heels, I chose to join them. I wore heels to both of my proms. I wore heels to my high school graduation. I wore heels for nights out with my girlfriends. I wore heels to Christmas parties, to poetry slams, to college parties, on date nights. Whenever I felt it would be appropriate, I would throw on the heels.
All of a sudden, I found myself taking a long, critical look at this habit of mine. Why was I wearing heels?
As a women who already stands at a rather lofty 5’10” barefoot, wearing heels left me quite literally towering over most of the people in my company, male and female alike. It never felt quite right and no matter how comfortable the sole, no matter how low the heel, no matter how positive the results of practice tests in the comfort of my college dorm room, I always ended my night with sore and throbbing feet. I didn’t understand the appeal and yet I still went along, wanting to join in what I thought were the true adventures of womanhood.
Then it happened — I found the perfect pair. They were jade green, mod style platform wedges. These beautiful works of art were such a refreshing twist on the traditional stiletto and pump. As a studio arts major, I felt a real kinship for anything which took a tradition and turned it on its head and so these shoes coming into my life was kismet. Between the platform and heel, I wobbled my way around on an unstable but impressive 6’3″ frame. They were so tall, so hyperbolic, that it seemed like a real statement, a way for me to re-appropriate this tradition in such an unconventional approach that it felt truly mine. And then came the fateful night I almost broke my legs.
Okay, it at least felt that serious. You see, as one might expect these heels were unruly beasts. With such a high center of gravity, my poor boyfriend was left to walk arm-in-arm with me not in a romantic gesture between lovers but as a necessary precaution for my safety. I found I could walk well enough on flat surfaces, but these shoes were straight deadly when taken off-roading. On an outing to a house party on our college campus one night, I found myself walking on treacherous terrain. I took it carefully, finding success walking as if the slightly gravelly path was instead made of ice — until I misstepped. I felt my heart jump into my chest as my entire body tensed. My arms jolted out of my boyfriend’s grasp as I fell to my knees. The spell was broken; the damage was done. As my blood pumped loudly through my body, my hands shaking from the adrenaline, I carefully righted myself. I felt embarrassed, terrified and hugely relieved that it hadn’t been worse.
As a women who already stands at a rather lofty 5’10” barefoot, wearing heels left me quite literally towering over most of the people in my company, male and female alike.
All of a sudden, I found myself taking a long, critical look at my habit. Why was I wearing heels? Why was I putting up with this constant pain? The answer that I was met with was harsh but simple — I was keeping up. I was doing as I assumed women were supposed to. I didn’t want to feel left out, the only girl unable to participate in the end of night sigh of relief as we kicked off our heels and complained about how hard it was to be a girl. I wanted my boyfriend to be taken aback by my beauty when I finished getting ready for a night out. I liked the small boosts of confidence that came with each sharp and definitive clack of heels. However, what was I sacrificing in this ritual of mine? I was physically restricted, as I had to plan out my night to make sure that I wouldn’t have to walk very far. I definitely couldn’t run or dance for very long. Sometimes I’d be so preoccupied with how I had to walk or the pain I was in that I wasn’t even able to enjoy myself properly. The answer was clear — I took a deep breath and ditched the heels.
It’s now been a solid four years since I sold those green platform shoes out of my life. It’s been easier than I ever thought to give up heels, leaving me to ponder what other unexamined rituals in my life aren’t really serving me and my happiness. It’s so important to take a good hard look at your habits from time to time and ask yourself some real questions. Why did I start doing this in the first place? Is this truly serving me? Does this make my life better? What would I be giving up by retiring this routine? Sometimes, taking that leap of faith can lead to relief and comfort; whether it’s physical or emotional, pain is pain. You might be surprised to discover that what you give up can pale in comparison to what you stand to gain.
