It could be a lot worse, I tell my financially conscious husband. A fifty thousand dollar fully loaded BMW (which he owns) or an even pricier Porsche Carrerra. Maybe thousands of dollars worth of face and chest work. In the LA friendly mountain town where I live I have run into an unfortunate Hollywood actress whose brow appears as hard and indestructible as military armor and let’s get real, some women just don’t know which consonant to stop at when it comes to forever faking their breast size. C or D, ladies. C or D.
But what I have on is something that’s aesthetically pleasing, temporary too. They strap on lightly at the ankle and have much finer measurements. 1 1/2 stacked from the toe and four inches at the heel. Smooth vachetta leather. They even come in the color cognac. I also own a black pair too that I bought at Mr. Kors’ well-lit signature store in Manhattan. The sales woman was diligent enough to call downstairs and double check just in case they actually had my size, the most popular size that everyone else on the floor reassured her they were sold out of. She must’ve recognized that look on my face for this Southern California native will never be a tourist, at least not when it comes to a MK store.
My husband thinks I wear Michael Kors heels because they elongate my legs or enhance the shape of my bare calf and, I don’t know, maybe I do. But I also wear them with jeans. I wear them to the grocery store and to the post office. Sometimes to the movies or out to yogurt with him. At a recent book event another female writer whispered to me during a reading, “Sorry I keep staring, but your shoes are fantastic!” I nod with all seriousness, with the faintest of smiles as if she’s referring to the deeply moving prose of the author reading his work at the podium.
And on that trip to New York, I return to my hotel room with my recent pair of platform sandals and I put them on for my friend, my girlfriend who doesn’t wear heels. But she asks me to take a turn in them because she’s surprised I move so easily and sturdily, and we laugh as girlfriends do who get ready together to go out at night or stay in with take-out pizza, watch a bad movie on Netflix or talk for hours over glasses of Merlot. We are at an age where confidence becomes us, it defines us. Whether or not we dare to stand tall in platforms or down with the rest of them in flats, it is our business and we do not dress up for no man, no woman, nobody other than ourselves.