So, I got into the habit of wearing stilettos to wash dishes. But while my partner is back, he does the cooking and dishes, so the heels have migrated toward other tasks, such as baking and ironing. (All of my indoor activities that involve standing do tend toward the domestic.)
Yesterday evening, I needed to do some baking. And the baking made me think of the heels. And the heels suggested a costume change, into these skinny jeans (as well as lacy panties, by request).
And this is more or less what I wore to the low-key party/small event this past weekend. We are a pragmatic lot, so even though this was a dance related event, most folks ended up just wearing their winter boots. My heels attracted attention (as well as some surprise at my surefootedness), and not just because they added 4 inches/10 cm to my petite frame while everyone else was in flats.
Wearing them while baking last night, I once again noticed how they draw my attention to, and subtly change, my physicality. Ordinarily, I move almost silently: more than once have I passed someone on an otherwise deserted sidewalk and startled them because they didn’t know I was there until I was right beside them. The heels announce my walk through the quiet house with a blatant clip-clopping that makes me mildly but inevitably self-conscious.
Otherwise, I feel sensuous and feline in them. They discourage efficiency and promote gentle hedonism. A reach, a bend, a squat — practical movements, slowed down and savored, take on an additional aesthetic dimension. Mindfulness delivered in the shape of a shoe?
More hedonism followed later in the evening, not all of it gentle…