from times
From The Sunday Times
May 31, 2009
Extreme heels have reached ridiculous heights
Shane Watson
Okay, I admit it. I judge a woman by her shoes. Over the past six months I’ve been gradually developing an allergy to the extremes of fashion footwear — seven straps, indented platforms, 5in heels, or those pointy high-heeled courts that shove the feet so far forward, there’s a permanent half-inch gap at the back. Don’t get me wrong: I personally own two pairs of 4in-high Marc Jacobs cork wedges, and I have some rope-soled numbers that make me 6ft 2in. But, guess what: my shoes don’t reduce me to a parody of a trannie in a storm. I don’t need a minder to help me down stairs. And, above all, I still know there is a time for the tottering fashion heel and a place for the Havaianas flip-flop.
You could forgive trannie heels if they just made an appearance at parties and red-carpet events. But the woman who wears these shoes is too scared to be seen without them. It’s a physical addiction, like extreme breast enhancement, and it’s getting worse. She’s wearing her trannies to sports day (Posh), on the aeroplane (Posh), and even poolside and to the beach (everyone’s doing it, from Scary Spice to Kate Beckinsale). These shoes have achieved something that the Taliban are still working on: they have made a certain sort of woman believe she is inadequate without the addition of a 6in restrainer attached to both legs — even when she’s in a bikini.
Remember Posh (again) wearing wedge-heeled trainers to pretend to play baseball back when the Beckhams first moved to America? Little did we know then that this was not an example of vanity run amok, but the beginning of an era of wearing heels you can’t do anything in for everything. The problem here is twofold. The kind of women who fall for trannie shoes have forgotten there is a difference between pictures and real life. We all love an image of a leggy model in 6in heels, but everybody used to understand that if you do actually attempt the housework wearing Prada multistrap platforms, you are liable to come to a sticky end. The second problem is extreme competitiveness. When Angelina stalked down the red carpet for the premiere of Brad’s new film, she was obliged to wear the uniform of split-to-the-groin gown (or minidress with train) and trannie shoes. It’s no longer a matter of how good you look; it’s a question of “I can if she can”. And I look thinner and taller.
But we don’t all have limos waiting out of shot and helpers to lean on. Step outside at the beginning or the end of the day, and you will see, along with the girls on a fag break, women rifling in giant handbags for their giant heels that they can’t wear to drive/walk/cycle/shop/dance/kiss, but which they feel compelled to put on when at work or out on the town. It is, as Peter Andre might say, insania.
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