The Heights

After spending all of my life somewhere on the tall spectrum, I’ve settled rather comfortably into the medium tall range of which the perks include having pants always hit me in just the right spot and being able to reach most tall shelves. For this reason, and because of The Legs, I rarely need to wear heels. But most heels aren’t about necessity. I own several pairs of course. Mary Janes. Espadrilles. Wedges. Stilettos that were not made to be worn on the brick sidewalks of the South End or, previously, on the gravel paths of my college campus.

Yet even when I feel the urge to put them on, I turn instead to the flats strewn about my room. I’ve stopped wearing heels during job interviews. Instead I pair my black suiting dress with black ballet flats and call it a day.

The reality of my life might have something to do with my devotion to the ballet flat. When I’m at work, I’m always on my feet. When I’m not, I’m walking everywhere. Over various bridges to Cambridge. Down to Fort Point Channel. Around Jamaica Pond. I balance my late 20s obsession with all things mini by wearing shoes that keep me close to the ground and keep my outfits sweetly sexy.

But heels of all types are, after dresses and boys and the perfect job, the things that I most often daydream about. I can lose hours in the archives of Tommy Ton's Jak & Jil street style blog. When I wander through shoe departments, I construct elaborate outfits from the bottom up. I’ve been having recurring fantasies about Manolo Blahnik mary janes in colors and prints that it doesn’t come in this season like leopard and red patent leather. And even though I should probably start by simply wearing the shoes that I already own, I can’t help lusting after a number of pairs.

From the twisted classic

Lanvin

Givenchy

Christian Louboutin

To the candy bright

Miu Miu

Alexander McQueen

To the sky high

Jimmy Choo

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