Kitten Heels WTF

Wow. Kitten heels really know how to lull someone into a false sense of security don’t they? There I was, striding through Shoreditch in my slouchy Arket boots (still fiercely adhere to the statement that these are the best boots of the year, no matter what I might say next) feeling for all the world like a “boss bitch” (whatever that is) and the next moment I was nearly annihilated by a tiny, weeny, almost imperceptible crack in the curb.

A crack, I have to say, that any completely flat footwear (trainers, biker boots, pumps, loafers) would have skimmed over without a second thought. Perhaps to a caterpillar it would have been a sizeable crevasse, but in human land it was miniscule. I could have sprinted over this tiny abrasion in trainers - flat boots would have shrugged at its total irrelevance, like a Parisian waiter regarding a customer in a trendy bistro.

Kitten heels, though? Kitten heels and a tiny, invisible-to-the-naked-eye curb crack? Oh boy, were we in trouble. The problem with kitten-heeled boots, I have newly discovered, is that they make you feel as though you’re in flats. They’re supremely comfy, at least for the first three miles of walking, and you can strut really quite forcibly, never wondering whether you might teeter or topple. You feel grounded and solid, despite the fact that all of your weight is resting on these very small and strangely-shaped protrusions.

So there you charge, for all the world thinking you’re in your Stan Smiths or Mountain Warehouse walking shoes; but the moment you hit an aberration in the road, you’re shafted. I think that felled is an adequate description for what happened to me when my stupid little semi-heel got caught in the crack. I was like an ancient oak going over, creaks and all. For God’s sake.