FASHIONISTA: The High and Mighty

Every now and again, the press like to throw a field day over unsuitably high heels. It's a seasonal thing - like Photoshoping glossy magazine covers and the sexualisation of young girls. Not that these two things aren't serious issues with the possibility of serious outcomes, but they seem to just exist in society quietly, until one day they are suddenly dragged back into the headlines for a few weeks before going back to existing quietly again. It's the same with high heels. Every few months, someone decides they have something to say about them and BOOM! they're back on the black-list as a no-no for women.

The latest issue being the increasing size of stiletto heels and the six, seven possibly eight-inch heights they are reaching. All well and good when you see them sitting on the shelf, but if you walk on the taller side of the size scale, adding an extra eight inches to your already generous height makes you look like The BFG. Not to mention increasing the difficulty of maneuvering through most door frames. And don't even mention a set of stairs.

This uproar has only further irritated the ever-controversial issue of the health risks behind high heels. Podiatrists will be the first to tell women of the additional stress and pain that high heels inflict on the foot. Not only do they cause the ankle, calf, knees and back muscles unnecessary pressure, but they can be damn difficult to walk in.

We've all tottered round on a pair of heels the size of the Empire State Building and felt the burning pain being injected into our feet, but it still doesn't stop us from buying what I like to refer to as 'stupid shoes' - shoes only Carrie Bradshaw would buy, shoes which are flamboyant and over-the-top, often with an utterly ridulous heel. Shoes which are not just shoes but lavish works of art, a combination of colour and crafting, with the occasional touch of impracticality but which we buy anyway because they are fabulous and they make us look and feel fabulous.

At least, I thought they did.

My strong belief system behind the emotional benefits of high heels was questioned last week when a reliable male source said that men never notice high heels, nor do they care ten cents about them. A woman could be wearing pluggers, toe socks or a pair of German clogs and men wouldn't know the difference. Apparently, the male judge of what is beautiful and 'hot' is decided on a woman's face and that's it.

I argued with this source for some time that, subconsciously, men do notice and that high heels attribute to a woman's physical attractiveness; that the way they shape and flaunt the legs and act as a frame for the body is all a part of what sucks men in in the first place. I stood behind my argument 100 percent and pushed my point until I was blue in the face, but he wouldn't budge. He resounded strongly that men don't care and that high heels are meaningless.

I'd like to believe that the hundreds of dollars I've spent on high heeled shoes have been souly for selfish purposes - to make myself feel fabulous - but I know, while that feeling may attribute to 99 percent of my excuses for purchasing, there is a tiny one percent of me that hopes that this particular pair of high heels may bring me some wanted male attention. It's sad, but nonetheless, true.

So this sudden development that men don't even notice the shoes I'm wearing, was mind-boggling. That putting up with the pain they are inflicting on my feet and the health risks I am submitting to my body is actually all for nothing.

The whole idea made me question myself and the more I chewed over it, the more I started to drown in doubt and self-pity. I pulled out all of the 'stupid shoes' I'd ever bought and looked at them in an entirely new light - one of shame. Maybe the podiatrists and the social commentators and heaven forbid, the men, are right? Maybe high heels are a health risk? Maybe they do suck women into a false sense of security about their lives?

In trying to work it all out in my head, I pulled on a particularly favourite pair of my 'stupid shoes' - a set of black and mandarin orange heels I bought when I was trying to make sense of a particularly bad situation in my life - and I remembered why I had bought them in the first place. They made me feel good. They made me feel sexy. They made all the mess and rubbish that was going on in my life feel a little bit more managable. In these shoes, I didn't just feel fabulous. I was fabulous.

And upon reconnecting with this truth, I realised that shoes - even the ridiculously high and the fashionably flamboyant - are still a solid investment. Because there ain't nothing that exists in a man's world that can make him feel nearly as confident, attractive and fabulous as a woman does in a pair of stupid, towering high heels.

It's just like Carrie said - "It's a woman's right to shoes".

(Image Credit: http://www.shoeblog.com/ - designers in order of appearance: Armani Prive, Proenzer Schoule & Paul and Joe / My favourite 'stupid shoes by Vicenza)