Actually, The Strappy Heels Are Going To Change My Life
‘Decades’ by Claudia De La Mata
Words by Hannah Benson
At 8:32 pm on a Saturday night, my best friend submits close to deadline:
PITCH - MASSIVE BAR BIRTHDAY PARTY WHERE YOU’LL KNOW ONLY TWO PEOPLE. ALSO THAT ONE AWFUL GUY WILL MOST LIKELY BE THERE. BAR CHARGES FOR WATER.
With a plate of eggs on my lap, a movie queued, and the day’s contact lenses in the bin, I text, “I will go because I bought new shoes.”
‘Manolo Blahnik’ by Viktorija Staseviciute
Seven hours previously, I clocked the strappy, brown, Italian leather heels on the shelf of a secondhand store. What’s meant to be, will be your size. Anyone who thrifts is spiritual (worse for others) or romantic (worse for self). The aisles hear a number of Jesus Christ!’s, Hallelujah!’s, and a few whispered, Thank you’s directed upward. Fellow customers pity me, overhearing, “I’m in love!” as I tap! tap! tap! on the linoleum in demonstration of the perfect fit. But just like any good romantic, I ignore the rationale of others, because I just know. I know the strappy heels are going to change the trajectory of my life.
Under string lights in a patio bar–that’s what we call parking lots in Los Angeles–I’m standing in a circle, holding my $3 plastic cup of water. The eye contact I made with that awful guy was unfortunately less, Don’t you dare, and more so, Please God no. But the strappy heels are clasped comfortably on my ankles and they pair well with my minidress, so I’m under the impression anything can happen.
It was never about the midnight curfew, Cinderella dashed off once the glass slippers didn’t work with her look. The power was within Dorothy all along, but the ruby slippers sure helped. Carrie B. couldn't have done all that damage without the Manolo Blahniks. Etc.
Fashion is often designated as appropriate or armor or aesthetic, which are just less cheesy ways of saying hope. And we all quite literally buy into this line of thinking:
-If I wear this blazer, the job is mine.
-My lucky underwear are green and cheeky with a cotton gusset to maintain a healthy pH balance.
-I will get my crush right where I want ‘em if I wear the skirt with the hemline that would make a middle school vice principal cough.
-The strappy heels will improve this party-going experience.
Hope is fleeting for most and almost immediately followed by feelings of trepidation and variations of silly ‘ole me! Men with mustaches saw to that. As did television reboots, concise cover letters, birthday candles, one-pot recipes, January 1st, Los Angeles, California, New York, New York, and therapists who greet you with their pronouns.
If we are going to keep up the whole ‘worldly possessions thing,’ especially in a society that fines for public nudity, we might as well concede to fashion’s potential and what it helps us become.An actress maybe, a socialite perhaps, the front desk assumes as my lilac blazer and skirt set swish through the double doors of a luxury European hotel. The structuring at my shoulders tells my brain that just because I can’t afford a suite, doesn’t mean I don’t deserve one, much less access to the lobby bathroom. My Americano-filled bladder nowhere near a public toilet is grateful for a closet that exudes confidence. That reminds me I belong and have the right to pee wherever I want.
Not a skill fostered these days. It’s trendy to find oneself incredibly pointless and awful among the Millennial and Gen-Z groups. We are consumers executing the earth, one purchase at a time. We accuse each other of finding joy in the mall, “What a frivolous airhead! I bet she doesn't even know how to spell empathy!”
‘Chromasport’ by Holly McCandless-Desmond
We’re letting Greta Thunberg down and practically kicking David Attenborough in the left testicle with a strappy, brown Italian leather heel.
Just a bunch of twenty and thirty-somethings bearing the weight of: I can’t buy these pants because they contribute to capitalism which is why I’m struggling to pay rent but the interview would be far more impressive if I wore these ones with the pleats rather than the drawstring pair I already own.
Then of course there’s the feel-good element. Just like a lick of whipped cream, a hushed word of gossip and another round of a female-quartet show, we are meant to enjoy secretly and never, under any circumstances give away the source of joy. Instead we cite it as self-confidence and spew, “I don’t know, I was just born liking myself. It’s whatever.”
As we angle ourselves in the dressing room mirror, looping the justifications and self-hatred, perhaps we should try on: How does this make me feel and who can I be with it zipped up?
Children are seasoned at this practice, more understanding of nuances. When given the opportunity, they wield clothes as an extension to how they see themselves. Orange pants, blue striped shirt because Maria loves the color orange and stripes are cool to look at. Dog shirt because Arlo’s sort of branding dogs as their thing at age eight. Seven was so dinosaur. The fabrics, colors and concept of top, bottom, shoe, accessory remain no matter the age, it’s the perception that changes.
We perceive how others perceive the knit tank. Overconsumption knit tank. Overdressed knit tank. Too minimal. Too much. There are more labels attached to clothes than there are actual designers. I can blame society, but at this point I’m just yelling in an Artizia changing room, scaring everyone off that cursed couch.
‘Blazed & Glazed’ by Amy Mazius
Clothes are and always will be what we want them to do. They may skew a manager, a bouncer or a lover on occasion, but it's that initial hope we assigned to their threads, buttons, straps, and cuffs that takes us there. Fashion’s means of becoming is only as effective as its authenticity to its wearer.
The strappy, brown Italian leather heels may put me at eye-level with a hoop earring wearer whose personality extends to the hoop, but this isn’t about them. I’m not trying to attract, nor fish for a compliment, because the novelty of the shoes transcends others’ perception. To choose, to swipe a card, to create an outfit, is its own form of power.
One solely dictated by me and my lived experience. I had to flip through a certain number of catalogs, witness an adequate amount of Los Feliz evenings at date hour and rewatch Clueless enough times to get here. Perhaps it’s through the lens of capitalism, but it’s entirely my own, just like the strappy heels.
Faith is a pair of jeans. Trust they’re clean. Respect their lifespan. Know what they do to your butt. Especially when paired with strappy, brown Italian leather heels that move me forward, wherever I want to go.
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