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I wonder if the appeal of high heels isn't all about the clicky noise.
At least, if I were going to find them appealing, that would be why. I think about this a lot of the times when I wear my boots, as I did today, because that is the only time I make those noises.* While even I think my legs actually look good in them (How can that be? I wondered today, watching my reflection in the sheet-glass of a passing building. Before I could come up with any answers, though, I was moving swiftly along to thoughts like Oh, a hole in the sidewalk, best be swerving to the left then. Damn lack of peripheral vision! It takes all my fun away.) the look doesn't interest me nearly as much as the sound.
Maybe it's that I have poor eyes and good ears, or maybe it's just that I have no idea how to be attracted to women. But, this is how it is in my world.
I was so jealous of my mom on Sundays, when I was growing up. I had no such shoes then; I don't even think it occured to me to ask for them. I had nothing other than flats until I was in my late teens, but to be fair that's not just because my mom was strict about grown-up things: I rebelled by being sensible.
But oh yes, the coveted click-click, accentuating every step, making me feel purposeful even though I'm not, making other people seem authoritative even when they're not. The cacophony of shoe-clicks in my morning commute can be a wonder to behold. Even (or especially) singly, the clicky sound never fails to grab at least a little of my attention.
* I guess I appreciated it all the more today when I spent some time stuck behind this girl who was wearing huge angular stilettos. She wasn't really picking her feet up off the ground — not that I blame her: it can't have been easy to stand, much less move, in those things. But with the heels dragging on the sidewalk, there was no beautiful sassy click I'd come to appreciate without really noticing it, but instead a scccccraaape! that was starting to make me feel the way soe people look when they hear fingernails on a chalkboard. I could've throttled her (Tuesday's a bit early in the week for homicidal thoughts, but it's been a rough week ... or, month, or year or something). It didn't help that she was as severe and angular as her shoes, looking like she weighed about half as much as me and thus I probably could've strangled her, or at least carried her around by her hair or maybe her angular, well-tailored jacket or something so her feet wouldn't be touching the ground anyway.
At least, if I were going to find them appealing, that would be why. I think about this a lot of the times when I wear my boots, as I did today, because that is the only time I make those noises.* While even I think my legs actually look good in them (How can that be? I wondered today, watching my reflection in the sheet-glass of a passing building. Before I could come up with any answers, though, I was moving swiftly along to thoughts like Oh, a hole in the sidewalk, best be swerving to the left then. Damn lack of peripheral vision! It takes all my fun away.) the look doesn't interest me nearly as much as the sound.
Maybe it's that I have poor eyes and good ears, or maybe it's just that I have no idea how to be attracted to women. But, this is how it is in my world.
I was so jealous of my mom on Sundays, when I was growing up. I had no such shoes then; I don't even think it occured to me to ask for them. I had nothing other than flats until I was in my late teens, but to be fair that's not just because my mom was strict about grown-up things: I rebelled by being sensible.
But oh yes, the coveted click-click, accentuating every step, making me feel purposeful even though I'm not, making other people seem authoritative even when they're not. The cacophony of shoe-clicks in my morning commute can be a wonder to behold. Even (or especially) singly, the clicky sound never fails to grab at least a little of my attention.
* I guess I appreciated it all the more today when I spent some time stuck behind this girl who was wearing huge angular stilettos. She wasn't really picking her feet up off the ground — not that I blame her: it can't have been easy to stand, much less move, in those things. But with the heels dragging on the sidewalk, there was no beautiful sassy click I'd come to appreciate without really noticing it, but instead a scccccraaape! that was starting to make me feel the way soe people look when they hear fingernails on a chalkboard. I could've throttled her (Tuesday's a bit early in the week for homicidal thoughts, but it's been a rough week ... or, month, or year or something). It didn't help that she was as severe and angular as her shoes, looking like she weighed about half as much as me and thus I probably could've strangled her, or at least carried her around by her hair or maybe her angular, well-tailored jacket or something so her feet wouldn't be touching the ground anyway.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-26 06:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-26 08:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-26 07:30 pm (UTC)This is exactly how I feel when I wear pumps, too. Of course, I'm more often to be found in my shiny work-appropriate wingtip maryjane Doc Martens, that I got for my last birthday, but they -- horror! -- SQUEAK on the floor in the hall here in my building.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-26 07:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-27 12:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-27 10:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-10-02 05:23 am (UTC)