Rising to the Occasion

The first time my mum ever bought me a pair of heels, I was in Grade 5 and we were on vacation in England. Now, by heels, I mean about a 1/2 inch of chunky wooden heel. The shoes were pretty excellent, actually. Plum coloured leather with a round toe and little petal shapes cut into the leather. They were comfortable and I loved them, though it wasn't long before I outgrew them. Still, I kept them in my closet for a long time hoping one day they would fit again.

My mum, who defines the word petite, wore heels - real heels - most of my young life. When she was a teenager, it was de rigeur in her circle to wear the highest heels available. While she didn't always follow this, she was rarely seen without at least an inch or two boosting her small frame.

I didn't inherit that gene.

Growing up in the '70s and '80s, I was more Earth Shoes than stilettos, then I preferred granny boots and pointy-toed boots. In the '90s, I shook hands with Doc Martin. The 2000s found John Fluevog making me feel like Cinderella. Not the cute yet sturdy heels, but the bowling shoe styles and the brogues. I like the way a nice, chunky shoe balances out my breasts and hips. I don't think that I will ever decline a chunky sole. There have been a few pairs of low heels in my wardrobe, but my comfort-over-style pragmatism overrules for day-to-day living.

However, I recently decided that, now that 40 is approaching, it's time to try wearing heels, to look more womanly than cutesy. Just sometimes, once in a while.

Most of the girlier shoes in my collection are vintage and fairly modestly stacked. However, I recently went all out and purchased a new pair of '40s-inspired 3" heels. Now, I know all the heel veterans strut around on 4", 5" and sometimes even higher, but for me, I feel like I'm a model in a fetish magazine when I secure the dainty buckle around my ankle. They look great, by the way... until I stand up.

Actually, I can stand in them. I can pose in sassy poses in them. Heck, I can even walk in them, but very tentatively, sort of like a toddler or someone getting their sea legs. Last time I wore them for any length of time, a simple subway ride to a restaurant turned into a lengthy, but far less awkward, cab ride home. I've walked down Richmond St. on a Saturday night (ugh, I'm shuddering just thinking of it) and seen the ladies in platform stilettos waiting to get into the clubs. Do they actually dance or do they just stand around looking tall and sexy? Actually, I know the answer to that, what I want to know is how?

How can I become a confident, strutting lady in a pair of sexy secretary heels? What magic does it take?