Crimes Against Shoe-manity; or a How To List

Philadelphia is no stranger to fashion. With Joan Shepp, Knit-Wit, and now Barney's Co-op lining Walnut Street, and Boyd's just around the corner, caché designers are readily available, and all the other shops follow along with everything from cheap punk to pricey prep. Heels, in particular, cross the fashion spectrum, and everyone from society mavens to tattooed moms sport dizzyingly high stilettos and platforms on occasion.

Too bad not everyone can walk in them. There is nothing more unattractive than a well-dressed woman who carries herself like a linebacker or a disaffected pre-teen; and somehow the higher the heel, the more obvious the offense. As I walked along Walnut Street this afternoon, I was a few paces behind a well-toned, beautifully coiffed, impeccably dressed woman in a pair of gorgeous YSL stiletto pumps. As she swaggered along, no doubt thinking she was all that, I figured that my 5-year-old could have easily run between her legs, such was the distance between her knees. Her toes pointed out at a diagonal, and overall she looked more like a muppet than a minx.

It has been remarked frequently that I can walk in heels. And I mean walk. And so I feel it my duty to share with you, lovely readers, some tips that can help you strut more like Heidi than like Kobe, regardless of the height of your heels.

1. Align your spine. Knees, hips, shoulders, head, all should be on the same vertical plane. Unless you want to look like you're wearing a bustle, don't stick your butt out; leaning forward gives you that learning-how-to-roller-skate off-balance look. As you walk, keep your head over your hips and your hips over your feet. Shoulders back, abs in, etc.
2. To the best of your ability, place your feet one in front of the other, as if you were walking on a straight line drawn in front of you. You don't have to be extreme about it; the point is to have your legs brush each other just a bit as you walk, rather than having a visible gap between your knees. A natural stride may well have you placing your feet straight forward from your hips, and since your hips are spaced out your feet would be too. However, walking in heels is not natural. Remember that, and think "tightrope."
3. Point your toes forward, not out. Leave the turned-out hips in ballet class and keep those feet parallel.
   
4. Imagine you're walking on your tiptoes. You'll lose your balance if you think you can put your weight down on your heels. Your weight will rest on your heels simply because of the height; don't do the standard heel-toe walk or you'll constantly be catching them on the pavement and tripping.
5. Slow and steady doesn't mean you have to take baby steps. For more advanced walkers, lift your knees a bit more than seems normal to allow you to take a longer stride without leading too much with your heel. But don't do the runway pony walk, this isn't ANTM.

If my little tips help to rid the streets of Philadelphia of the scourge that is bad walking, I'll have served my purpose. And maybe it'll give some of you who've resigned yourselves to ballet flats the urge to try for an extra inch or two!

And for the boys: my friend and colleague Mike at Modus Wardrobing offers his glossary of mens' shoes. Check it out!

What do your shoes say about you?

Working at a shoe store has me thinking about the story my own shoe collection tells about me. First, I used to be a hoarder, keeping shoes that I hadn’t worn in a decade just in case they might come in handy, wearing my go-to sandals until they fell off my feet, replacing soles and heels until the cobbler shook his head at me. But right now I have nothing in my shoe collection that I haven’t bought in the past two years.

In February of 2007 my house burned down, and with it went my wardrobe and all my books. The books are a story for a different post, but the wardrobe was a chance to reinvent myself, at least sartorially. Our insurance reimbursement was structured such that we received only the depreciated amount for categories of lost items, until we replaced those categories, at which point we would receive the rest of the replacement amount. In effect, the insurance company handed me approximately $12k for clothes and shoes, $7k of which we would only get if I spent the money. It was … indescribable.

At any rate, my new wardrobe is way more fashion-forward than my old style. Gone were the sweat pants and old smelly tee shirts I had clung to post-pregnancy. Gone were the sensible flats and conference pumps that I wore to make me look older. (I’m old enough now that older is not a look I’m going for!) I splurged at Anthro and picked up unusual finds at boutiques. And the shoes … well.

Don’t get me wrong, my closet also contains sneakers, flats, flip-flops, and even a pair of Dansko clogs (although I think the patent leather on the clogs gives them a tiny bit of flair). But I have a decent collection, as this picture attests, of Take Me To Bed shoes. There are the Take Me To Bed And I’ll Live Out Your Childhood Dorothy Fantasies shoes, all shiny red and ruffly. Then there are the Take Me To Bed Or I’ll Kick Your Ass black gladiator sandals, with a heel substantial enough to do serious damage. I have Take Me To Bed And I’ll Grant You Three Wishes fairy princess shoes, so silvery that they catch headlights as I walk down a nighttime sidewalk. And my most recent acquisition, my Take Me To Bed gold metallic sandals with a 4” stiletto heel and delicate ankle straps, Nike Air cushioning, and enough Va-Va-Va-Voom in them to make me consider not taking them off until someone’s begging for mercy.

What do all these Take Me To Bed shoes say about me as a person? I like to think they say I’m a confident, mature, sexy woman who knows how to find balance, not just on stilettos but in other ways too. I’m not suggesting that high heels are somehow empowering from a feminist perspective (though I don’t think they necessarily aren’t). But I know how I feel when I wear a hot pair of shoes. I stand straighter, I walk with purpose. My gaze stays up rather than scanning the sidewalk ahead of me. I meet the eyes of the people I pass, and I smile. Because whatever my shoes might be saying, it’s what my eyes and my heart say that matter.

Of course, for when I don’t feel like saying anything at all, I’ll let my knee-high red patent leather boots speak for me.