Judge, judge, judge. Judgement is inevitable when you hear the loud clacking and see the hip-swinging of a girl in high heels. You think it looks uncomfortable or assume that she's just looking for attention.
Heels have existed since the 1500s, and I can only assume that at the time they had two purposes: One was to make short people taller, while the other was to prevent hems from dragging in muck. Today, heels are worn to elongate the leg, one of the reasons why models have killer stems. There's a cornucopia of flats, sneakers and boots on campus, but why do we stigmatize heels? I decided to conduct a bit of research through observation: I wore heels for an entire day.
Two years ago, I went to Bloomingdale's for one of their sales. Score: a pair of five-inch, wooden, Miss Sixty platform heels for 50 bucks (and pictured above right). Strutting through the shoe department and viewing the feeding frenzy debris of rejected shoes, used Peds and crumpled tissue paper, I felt like a supermodel at my new height of 5'9". The shoes were bought (partly on principle -- $50 for designer shoes is a good deal), taken out of the bright, multi-colored box and placed in my closet.
They were my wild shoes, the ones that I looked at every morning, wondering if that day I was ready to conquer their intimidating height. I'd worn these shoes twice before this teeter-totter Monday, and to be honest, the last time I'd worn heels at all was probably in December. Stumbling about in my room, I felt like a baby giraffe.
Once my balance improved, I decided to make my first excursion to Collis at around 11 a.m. I was just in time for the food rush. Standing by the smoothie line for fear of entering further, shorter girls bumped into me, making me spill my Diet Coke and lean on the counter so that I didn't fall. I was afraid that suddenly I'd regressed to the habits of my baby giraffe stage as I viewed this jungle-like hustle and bustle. But with my weight pulled up, chin raised and bag slung over my shoulder, I continued on to conquer Collis.
Fast-forward a few hours, and I was going to my class in the basement of Carson. My route? Through Novack. I encountered a few of my friends, whose reactions were: "Dylan, you look so tall today," "My, Dylan, those are some high heels," and "Your feet must be dying!" Oh, what little they knew of my pain.
I've been one of those people who sit in Novack in front of a laptop, subtly people-watching in a subconscious effort to procrastinate. You hear the noise coming from behind you, look up as you hear it pass, see the skinny stiletto and wonder why anyone would want to make the ball of her foot feel like a mashed mess of metatarsal. I received quite a few of these looks, my loud wooden shoes echoing through the hall, and I couldn't tell if they were looks of disbelief because of the impracticality or looks of surprise at seeing a sexy high heel in Hanover.
So why is there a stigma against heels at Dartmouth? Are we afraid to take a risk for the sake of fashion? Do we equate heels with sex, and therefore fear judgment? What could be good about wearing heels on campus?
They represent worldliness; a woman could conform to the practical expectations to which Dartmouth students hold each other, or she could disregard the norm and wear heels. When I wore those Miss Sixty heels all day, I felt empowered and more conscious of how my own body moved. I didn't have to cuff my pants and besides, the shoes were adorable anyway. What could be wrong with that?
Dylan is a staff writer for The Mirror.
