"MS. HIGH HEELZ" - COMPLEXD MAGAZINE

MS. HIGH HEELZ

Can Feminism and Fashion Co-Exist A-Top My Monster Platforms?

By black lily

They say, “The higher the heels, the closer to God.” Well, ladies - and fabulous boyz- mama, is aiming for sainthood on a pair of ferocious, Betsy Johnson, black satin numbers *adjusts halo*. Oooo-eeeee, just found them on Zappos, y’all, and I’ll just diiiiiiie if I don’t get them right nnnnn………

Okay, alright. Breathing. Breathing. There’s just one little problem with my outrageous high heel habit (I mean besides the fact that I can’t really afford them right now, but buy them en masse anyway). You see, I. AM. A. FEMINIST. I say it strong, I say it proud. I say it very, very loud. I am not afraid to claim the “F” word, dated though it may sound. In fact, I am a card carrying feminist to boot (pun intended) - as in, I literally have a National Organization for Women membership card chillin’ in the recesses of my ‘monetarily-challenged’ wallet as we speak (athough I must confess, I’m just the teensiest bit behind in my dues - but I digress). Thing is, as you might have guessed from my effusive opening prattle about the Betsey Johnsons, I’m also about the girliest girle who ever girled! Puh-lease, there isn’t a lipgloss, a glossy high-fashion magazine or a sultry pencil skirt that’s safe from the likes of me. And, although I mostly just glide along through life (in my 5” stilettos) not giving a flying *&$% about the contradictory nature of my very being, occasionally the paradox of being a girly-girl feminist smacks me right on my heavily-painted pucker. OUCH!

Never is this more true than when I slip on a pair of super-sized heels. The ‘Lily,’ in actually fact, does not own flats, y’all. Unless, of course, you count the two-pair of trainers and one pair of hiking boots in my closet - which I don’t - on accounta they are used in the begetting of limbs that will look even more fabulous perched on the top of some Giuseppe Zannoti’s (or DSquared2’s if I’m feeling particularly ‘edgy’). But, before I condemn myself outright for buckling to the sexist patriarchal paradigm and betraying all that I hold holy (and feminist), I must add that I’m not entirely sure my love of high heels has much to do with trying to appeal to the male gaze. Okay, fine - you got me. So I suppose it doesn’t hurt any that, with a pair of high heels on, you can mold men like so much Play-Doh, but that’s not the only reason I love them (the shoes, I mean). In fact, when I think about it, my affair de coueur with high heels was imprinted upon me even before my love of boys *gasps*. Yes, it’s true. I get my endless love for killer kicks utterly honest because, as they say, “I get it from my Mama.”

To Be Continued. Read full story in ComplexD Magazine (Issue #2, pp. 50-51) here:

http://www.complexd.co.uk/#/complexd-magazine/4539812412