I used to live in heels. Then I moved to Cambridge, and there was brick. Unrelenting, unforgiving, ubiquitous brick. I became a flat-sole aficionado, and somewhere in the midst of conversion — like a Christian Copt deriding his neighbors — I became scornful of those who still clung to their high-heeled ways. To the girls who teeter-tottered past me on their precarious pedestals, I could offer only an incredulous look, and perhaps an unsympathetic snigger when a loose brick sent them into inelegant flails.
A favorite from Vivienne Westwood — the “mock croc” platforms from her 1993 “Anglomania” show.
And then this week, I had a relapse. The trigger for me was the most comfortable pair of heels I’ve ever owned — sleek black pumps, plain, with a pointed toe and a modest heel. In them, I could prevail over the season’s slush and even conquer the walk to the Quad. I didn’t mind when others laughed at their impracticality. I was won over.
Given these new developments, it’s not surprising that this New York Times online spread — a tribute to Darwin and the high heel — should tickle me this morning. Give them a spin, unless you have low tolerance for the mock intellectualization of fashion — wait, hold on, unless you have a penis.