Sunday, 19 May 2013

I'm a short, short girl

Some of my babies...

Ready for your close up?

One, two, buckle my shoe...

Birthday shoes, my heart beats for you...

I do like a heel detail (and a red sole)...

This post, my dear readers, is about the shortcomings (no pun intended) of being short. You see, I am a total shorty, and not in the hot girl sense of the word, I am just very small, tiny even. I top the height charts at 5 foot 1 (and a half!!!) inches, so I am pretty little. Not only this but most parts of my anatomy are small too... hands, wrists, feet and legs. I need sleeves and trouser lengths shortening all the time too, so in order to overcome this terrible shortcoming of my height I have become an avid collector of the highest of high heels, most of which I cannot wear for much more than a few hours (a back injury caused this) but many years ago used to be able to trot around in them for hours at a time and often did. I have a disgusting obsession/penchant/perversion for stilettos in particular.

I blame my fetish on my height, no-one wants to be small, but I do think this is probably just an excuse to buy more shoes, especially since they aren't exactly the most comfortable of things. I have promised myself I will become like Mrs Beckham and be able to 'do' heels, like all day long and wear them for the most mundane of tasks such as the food shop, going to the post office, or buying stamps. I can manage a good 7 or 8 hours in my 'work' shoes, which are a sensible 3  inches, but I'm yet to join the scouse brigade and do full day shopping in them. Heels + pavements = PAIN!!!!!

The thing is I hate my height, I hate being unable to see bands at gigs, or reach things, I hate that I am not much taller than teenagers and for many years I have dreamt of being lanky and awkward and long of leg. So to overcome this, especially on an evening out I try and find an excuse to wear a heel. I have no idea why, the years of heel wear have left me developing bunions, two sprained ankles, a very unhappy back and feet that have seen much better days. However nothing gives me more pleasure than the wiggle that my walk develops when I totter around in spindly, cigarette thin heels. I feel an odd power, I gain aeons of confidence (that I lack naturally) and feel as though I can take on the world. Or at least reach the top shelf in the cupboards.

Any of you that know me personally know I am quite an angry little person, and I recon added height only makes me more fiery, but it makes me a different sort of fiery. I am less Napoleon more Naomi! I guess I start prancing about like a diva supermodel who gets paid 10 grand just to hop out of bed, but that is the power of heels. They are so pretty too, plus I love the toe cleavage my Loubys give me, and I love that certain chunky heels can give a usually pretty dress a punky edge. I love that a pointy stiletto can make you appear powerful and in control, like a ball breaking office bitch with a collection of voodoo dolls. I love that my 'birthday shoes' (bright, minimal Zara sandals) make me feel happy and carefree and remind of happier times and summer, I love that my buckled Topshop sandal/bootie/bastard child shoes make me feel edgy, and a little bit cool. I love that the red soles of my Loubys make even the most composed girls squeal with joy and envy, I love that my faux python mid heels make any mundane outfit look a little more CĂ©line-esque... See it works! Heels are magical little creatures with the power to make anything better. Well that's what I tell myself when I look at my bank balance.

Most importantly though, my heels make me feel taller, and with that comes a little boost of confidence that no boy, dress, lipstick or haircut ever can. So Mr Vivier (the inventor of the stiletto, look him up) I salute you! For you have improved the lives of short, short girls everywhere. I guess we could call you our God.

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