What women think - April 2005

On my high-heeled horse

Princess Mary is brilliant at it; after all did she not just spend two weeks here showing us how it's done. Liz Hurley is another, not shy about showing her style to the snapping paparazzi. Posh Spice isn't too bad; vertically challenged Dolly Parton had no choice but to perfect it.

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On the other hand, Julia Roberts is hopeless. Just watch Pretty Woman when she's wearing that astounding sprayed-on red dress, about to clamber aboard Richard Gere's private jet and pop off to San Fran for a quick opera. As you do. Dreadful work, girlfriend.

I'm talking about high heels. Or, more to the point, walking in high heels.

I own many, many pairs. I think I own so many because there are so few good men around. Is that a reasonable excuse? Well, I'm sticking to it!

Now I adore shoes. Think Imelda Marcos ".no I don't own 3000 pairs of shoes as the media keeps quoting, I only own 1060 pairs."

Think Carrie Bradshaw, the one woman footwear juggernaut who brought new meaning to the phrase "footloose and fancy free". As a columnist she advised her readers to archive their shoes, warning that marriages may not last, but at least with Blahnik you can be monogamous (all this despite the fact she two-timed her Manolos with Jimmy).

I swear by the saying that if God hadn't wanted us to wear high heels, he wouldn't have created Manolo Blahniks. And hot on these Manolo heels is the fab phrase adopted a few years ago by us Babes which reads "all a girl needs is fabulous shoes and she can conquer the world".

I am sure the glass slipper that Cinderella lost as she scampered away from the Prince to meet her midnight curfew was a stiletto, albeit in a mule style - why else would it fall so easily from her tiny foot.

If I'm ever with a group of women, be they work colleagues or my girlfriends, I always feel just that little bit daggy when one of them is wearing a dazzling pair of heels and I'm wearing little flatties.

High heels make women hold their shoulders back, lift their chins, even feel brave enough to give a tiny, almost imperceptible wiggle as they walk on by. Heels give you a special confidence; it's personal, it's cheeky, it's brave.

They scream "I'm fabulous" to anyone who looks sideways at them.

They are damn sexy, they look terrific, and women feel like a million dollars when they've got them strapped to their feet.

I just wish it was easier for us to walk in them. To stand around in them at garden weddings without fear of our heels sinking into the turf. To boldly walk on decking without fear of losing a heel tip in the gaps.

The other weekend I was browsing around Garden City and came across a shoe store that was closing down. All the shoes were $40 or less. The creations were astounding, ranging from spindly silver party sandals to casual slip-ons. I was in raptures. It wasn't long before I swanned gaily out of that shop bearing more than a few purchases in my arms and more than a few dents in my Visa.

I've worn all my new footwear with delight, save one pair. They are white, with a cross-over ankle strap and with the most amazing beaded creation over the toe part. And they are high. Really high. Killer stiletto high. They are so high that I can't walk from my bed to the bathroom without gripping the wall (or the floor) for support. I'm starting to wonder why I bought them.

I've developed a rather dismal tendency of putting them on after my shower at night and simply sitting on the edge of my bed with my legs crossed and admiring myself in the mirror. My 14 year old daughter refuses to be in the room with me when I do this.

While I'm wearing them I imagine I'm sitting in a fabulous café on Tedder Avenue with seafood and a glass of wine before me. Or at a black tie dinner in a slinky evening gown. With the make-up and waistline to match.

The dream comes crashing down when I try to work out how I would walk to the loo or get up to dance.

Shoe fashions have altered dramatically in the last three or four years. As our new century dawned, it wasn't uncommon to be wearing box-toed court shoes with a big, fat chunky heel. They may not have looked terribly flattering but everyone else was wearing them so no woman had to feel like the odd one out.

Best of all, they were comfortable. Pop them on in the morning, race around at work all day, head out that night - no problem. "See you at midnight," they'd happily chortle as you sped out the door at 7am.

But over the years the toes have become narrower and arches have become higher, the heels thinner. Right up to what we've got in shoe stores today - pointy toed stilettos. Thousands of them. In every colour imaginable. Gorgeous to look at; but the podiatrist's eternal nightmare.

I'm wearing my fabulous white sandals as I type this. My options now are to take them off to head to my bedroom, or wear them and sleep in the study.

If I choose the second option, at least I know I'll look fabulous when I wake up.

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Read other columns written by Bron

Bron McClain p 0412 326 300 e bron@bronmcclain.com