know that I am what you'd refer to in Sandton circles as 'a heels girl'. Few things set my pulse racing quite like a sky-high, streamlined, expertly fabricated pair of stilettos. When it comes to pursuing calf-defining height I am a purist. Sure I'll mix it up once in a while with a wedge or a solid cowgirl-esque boot but I believe that kittens belong in pet shops and cones are best served up with ice cream.
So, on a recent trip to the UK, the fact that the footwear department of my luggage contained mostly heels shouldn't come as much of a surprise. Now before you get the urge to chuckle and tease this blogger let me clarify that I left the six-inch skyscrapers at home and made a concerted effort to pack my 'sensible' heels, the kind that I can run up escalators in and are perfectly suitable for chasing after my puppy in the park if need be. As I made the tough calls between black or tan Aldo boots, between Nine West or Europa Art wedges and between matte or patent courts, I imagined myself dashing for the tube, missioning up Oxford street and strutting purposefully between art exhibitions... and came to the conclusion that I was packing the appropriately comfortable footwear.
Let's just say that after day one of exploring Cambridge in my flattest boots – they're barely 2-inches in heel talk – I remembered just why the highest pair of heels I wore during my student days was a pair of vintage cowboy boots...
Not even the three shopping bags dangling happily from my cashmere clad arms could distract me from the toe-crushing, burning sensation wreaking havoc with my pedicure.
Not even the three shopping bags dangling happily from my cashmere clad arms could distract me from the toe-crushing, burning sensation wreaking havoc with my pedicure.
Thankfully, in a moment of sheer 'just in case-ness' I had thrown my trusty Woolies ballet flats into my hand luggage. I say thankfully, because those ballet flats saved me a small fortune in podiatrist appointments, becoming the footwear of choice for the first few days of my holiday.
As comfy as my favourite flats are, their colour is a bit problematic... they're green. Yes, the colour of grass, and while grass looks good on England's countryside it doesn't give much flexibility when putting together an outfit. This realisation came on day four when my outfit of choice left me looking like an episode of Rainbow Bright rather than an extra on the Gossip Girl set.
And so I did what any sensible girl would do and headed for Topshop. If I were destined to wear flats and only stand 5 foot 7 inches above the pavement then the footwear would need to be pretty and (yawn!) practical, and few places do pretty practicality quite like Topshop.
The high street favourite didn't disappoint – one pair of cream ballet flats, black patent round-toed pumps and lace-up brogues later, I was happy to report via Twitter that the makings of a wardrobe crisis had been averted. And the most noteworthy thing about this rather long-winded tale? This morning, as I got dressed for work, slipping on a black Forever New dress and tights combo, I reached for my favourite sky-high courts and something quite remarkable happened – I decided to go with the new brogues instead *gasp*
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