You know when women say, “Oh wearing high heels is a breeze! It doesn’t hurt at all!”
They’re LYING. High heels are painful. The higher the heel, the more painful. I promise you, they hurt. Don’t believe those women, FASHION IS PAIN. IT HURTS to stand around in things that put pressure on the softest part of your foot.
I want to talk about how much I love high heels. I love that when I first slip them on, they’re fine for about half an hour, and then they start hurting. I love how I have to carry another pair of shoes whenever I go out wearing them, because I just know that sometime during the day, my feet will give in and scream, “No more. NO MORE.” And I definitely love how they make you feel sexy and gorgeous and make me feel like I am miles tall (even if it isn’t exactly true).
My love for high heels stems from an early age. How do I know this? Well, I have this teardrop-shaped scar on my left knee, and I still remember how I got it.
I was five years old, and I remember my mother had bought me a pair of high heels for a performance I was going to be doing later that month. I was more excited about the heels, and from what I remember, they were about an inch high, sparkly and gold. Even five-year old Tanya couldn’t resist glitter.
I think I need to fill you in on something. Indian kids have this “tradition” where they go downstairs to play in the evening. And since I was in India at that time, I used to follow this quite closely too.
This one evening, I wanted to wear my new glittery shoes when I went down to play. My mother immediately saw how this had the tremendous potential of resulting in me getting hurt, and so refused to let me wear them.
Well, I went into a major strop. I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me. I finally had grown-up shoes and now she wasn’t even letting me wear them to show them off to my friends? What kind of a mom was she? How could she be so insensitive and unreasonable?
After about thirty five minutes of me crying my eyes out and bawling like a big baby (which I technically was), my mom gave in. I quickly wiped my tears and stepped onto them. Immediately, the dark cloud around me began to lift, and I felt like a fairy princess who just got rescued by a handsome prince. I had stars in my eyes and I felt like a whole new person. This was amazing!
Sadly, that feeling didn’t last long as I couldn’t even walk with them. I needed more practice! When my mother saw me stumbling, she told me to go upstairs and change. By quick wit (which I naturally inherited), I said, “But, Mummy, I have to practice now so I don’t fall off on stage!” all wide-eyed and innocent.
My mother saw my point and surprisingly, agreed with me. She led me downstairs and that’s when the tragic happened.
I saw the wide expanse of the area the children usually frequented and my heart leaped with joy. All the other girls were going to be so jealous that I was more grown-up than them!
Then, I started running. Which was an extremely bad idea, because I was running on gravel, and also, I had momentarily forgotten that I couldn’t even walk in heels, so running should have been out of the question.
Long story short, I fell heavily and now my left knee has an attractive pear-shaped scar on it.
Oh yeah, my mom also rushed me to hospital because my knee was bleeding profusely and refused to stop, and also because my mom is the kind of person that panics easily. But it was a good thing she did, because I required three stitches, but I can’t remember any of this, so I have to take my mom’s word for it.
And that’s how long I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with high heels. Even that traumatizing incident didn’t stop me, and now, I can proudly say that I can wear high heels without tripping/stumbling/requiring a doctor.