Stripper heels. Without any further description you already know what I’m referencing, don’t you? Those chunky, often transparent stilettos that are usually just as stacked as the bulbous chest of the woman wearing them.
Does it seem odd to anyone else that in an industry based on being or becoming naked, a type of shoe has evolved to be known and used almost specifically for it? I suppose they are just as widespread (mind the pun) in the world of porn but I could make the same argument – yet another job where the rudimentary part is taking your kit off. Where did these ugly things come from such a seemingly long time ago?
The skeptical, hairy-pitted feminist that scowls in one of the corners of my brain thinks that the design is just typical – four inches off the ground with nothing to balance on but a pencil-thin heel?. Is it because they would make it impossible to run away and that appeals to the cavemen out there? Does some of their charm have roots in how difficult they make it to be upright at all? Why not just make the heels round and be done with it, so that if the women wearing them try to get up they fall right back onto the bed where they belong?
On the other hand, or foot as it were, I totally understand the appeal of an accessory that makes you feel immediately sexier – as I find high heels do. As soon as your calves are forced into a slant like that they take on that elongated bitable chicken drumstick type look and your butt takes on a new ‘presentable’ dimension.
Perhaps too, the heel could be seen as more of a scrotum-pinching tool of domination rather than one of oppression. In the same vein, that uber-heel could cause the woman wearing them to tower over her male counterpart, shriveling his manhood. There are so many facets to these iconic accessories that I’d never considered.
As fashions dip into metrosexual territory every now and then and clothes become increasingly androgynous, comfortable shoes are one item it seems that men are still not ready/too smart to change. Give it a few decades more and perhaps they can hobble along with us fools – puffy, sprained ankles in tow, sharing fisherman-type tales of “blisters the size of your head!”