When I was younger I was obsessed with heels. I desperately longed to be old enough to wear them and was even more desperate to be able to walk in them (at 21 I still struggle with this).
I remember at the ripe old age of 10 going off to a friend’s for a play date. Said friend was one of the popular girls. I was not a popular girl but for some reason she fell for my charm (LOL). She was also 6 months older than me which definitely contributed to her status as cool kid. Believe me, those six months mattered in primary school. Her parents were significantly less strict than mine and as the youngest and only girl in the family (the poor girl had three brothers) she got away with murder. She also got to wear heels. Yep, heels at 10. On this particular play date we were participating in an intense game of dress up in her (much more exciting than mine) wardrobe. Like a magpie drawn to shiny things, I spied a pair of brown heeled boots at the bottom of a pile of clothes she was planning on throwing away – a dismissive approach to clothes that I still struggle to get to grips with. In swooped dorky little Niamh. I’d fallen in love instantly and it must have been written all over my face because she then said those magic words – “You can have them if you want. I don’t wear them.” They didn’t fit me. I didn’t care. I couldn’t walk in them. I didn’t care. There was no way in hell my parents were going to let me wear them. I didn’t care (I hid them under my bed).
Fast forward to 14 year old Niamh. Still dorky, still obsessed with heels, still scrounging clothes off her mates. This time I was headed to concert with a friend. We were getting ready when cupid hit me with that sneaky little bow and I spotted the shoes. I begged Clara to let me wear them and unfortunately, proceeded to wear them in public. Could I walk in them? Nope. Did I look ridiculous? 100%. Did I force Clara to swap shoes with me every half an hour because my feet were in such agony? You betcha.
The embarrassing stories continue right through to the painful experiences of my first nights out in heels – a time in my life I’m not sure I want to revisit. Then somewhere around my first year of uni, I admitted defeat on my love affair with heels and swiftly built myself a flats focused uniform for every occasion. Until very recently I’ve been living my best life in flats but your first love always comes back to haunt you one way or another.
Sometimes flats just don’t cut it and at 5 ft I could really do with the height boost of heels 95% of the time. I thought I was happy in my life of flat shoes but I was living a (comfortable) lie. I went to an event recently and upon leaving the house, felt pretty pleased with my outfit – denim shirt, leather trousers, backless loafers and camel duster coat. That feeling quickly left me the second I walked through the door and the inner monologue of outfit comparisons began. I was about 3 outfit comparisons in with a shopping wishlist the length of my arm when I clocked that every outfit I had been so busy envying involved heels.
In the last few years I’ve found myself in the depths of more “boyish” trends, relied on my boyfriend’s wardrobe for outfit inspiration and spent more than I care to admit on the latest trainers trends. Combine this with finding myself directing resentment at everything in my wardrobe recently and I was more than ready for a change. I challenged myself to wear heels every day for a week. I know, I know, I live life on the edge but honestly, I learned a lot during the challenge.
I can drive in heels
Never leave the house without blister plasters
I’m a lot more like Carrie Bradshaw than I give myself credit for (a little far fetched…)
Disclaimer: Not my most aesthetically pleasing post but it was spontaneous and iPhone photos/photos saved from my instastories were all I had to go off.
In an attempt to really give my all to the challenge I decided to treat myself to a new pair of heels. Black, smart, versatile and painful AF. I got overexcited about showing off my new heels, threw myself in the deep end and wore them to an event without any previous breaking in of the shoes. Call myself a fashion blogger and I forget the golden rule of new shoes. Rookie.
Despite shredded feet, a little blood and some numb toes, I did rake in a fair few compliments on my shoe choice so you know, no pain, no gain.
Day two and armed with blister plasters and my favourite statement heels, I was back in fighting form and ready to make some fashionable first impressions with new clients at work.
Thankfully mules still count as heels. This was probably my favourite outfit of the week but since I spent the day working from home, no one but those who happened to watch my instastories got to see it…until I repeated it at the weekend and for an upcoming blog post.
Time to pull out the closest thing I have to Carrie Bradshaw heels (for now) AND they only cost me £10 in the Topshop sale (similar here).
I finally braved the day 1 shoes for a second time around – partly because I knew the more I wore them, the faster the painful breaking in process would be and partly because this is the outfit I had been dreaming of when I first bought them. I survived 5 hours wearing them before trading them in for the comfort of my slippers the second I walked through the door.
All in all, the transformation was a lot easier and a lot less painful than I had expected. I felt a definite boost in my confidence as I strutted around the place in my heels all week and as a result, I now have several online baskets filled with brand new heels that deserve their time to shine in my wardrobe. Here’s hoping…
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