Posh caught flat footed- I heel her pain.
Abandoning her early-Noughties fear of legs resembling golf clubs, La Beckham has thrown in the towel and embraced horizontal shoes, stating the epically obvious to us mere mortals, that 6in heels are just no longer practical as a working mum. Thanks for the tip. Groundbreaking. Anybody got a pen? But no, Posh, I feel your pain. (Lashings of apologies for the pun. It was there.) Sadly, I haven’t the multi-grillion pound empire to back it up, but hear you all the same.
When I decided to quit my “good on paper” job in the City to tackle this new, wild, wonderful and not a bit daunting role of motherhood I thought I was prepared. (NEWSFLASH- juggling a career with children is rather hard, or hadn’t you heard?) In the spirit of full disclosure though, I was also just in need of a change. Once upon a time I loved work. The buzz of the trading floor, the energy, and yes the money made for an intoxicating elixir. Of course, this was before banker bashing became a national pastime and for our sins, Alistair Darling demand we don hair shirts beneath our T.M. Lewin. (But I jest. I would never wear T.M. Lewin.) It wasn’t fun anymore (and I have sensitive skin). Throw children into the mix and the increasingly long hours made for stressful, guilt-riddled days. There were the predictable anxieties—loss of validation, financial independence and the gnawing fear of relinquishing my identity entirely. Lastly, however superficial (but no less valid), was the fond farewell bid to my enviable collection of heels. The humanity.
I can hear the sweet hum of baby violins tuning, but before you judge, I suspect there are others (VB, ahem.) sharing my affinity for vertiginous footwear who may relate. It’s perfectly reasonable, really. In heels, I was ready to take on the world. They were my armour. Now, well I have to settle for taking on the Bugaboo brigade and Micro-scooting minions as a foregone conclusion in sole-friendly Converse. The official footwear of middle-age mums worldwide. Yep. I am officially a stay-at-home mum. How do I know? — aside from being able to fold a fitted sheet blindfolded and my expanding collection of Sweaty Betty leggings– I will now pay good money for flats. Anymore than £30 before, and I just couldn’t see the point. Not so these days. I’ll stretch the purse to £50 for a funky trainer. Sure, there was a distinct period of mourning, and still I suffer random moments of wistful longing for a croc-embossed platform, slick stiletto or patent leather peep-toe before begrudgingly donning my Wellies and parka at 8am to brave another soggy school run. But I can happily report I’ve come out the other end stronger, wiser and remarkably that much more confident.
I now think twice when eyeing a pair of hot pink Mary Jane stilettos, mentally calculating the cost-per-wear before gravitating toward on-trend pointy-toe flats. Smart. Neat. Practical. Whilst when the weather cools I migrate to the ubiquitous riding boot, a perennial mainstay at school gates up and down the country come September. Now with ‘flatforms’ and block-heeled pumps infiltrating the fashion firmament, my penchant for vertically challenged footwear renders me positively on trend. The support of La Beckham merely reinforces this. Hurrah!
That’s not to suggest I’ve binned ALL my heels. As if. Manolo, Louboutin and Kurt Geiger received special dispensation, surviving the cull. And I’ll still find any short-distance excuse to wear them– birthday parties, parent evenings… pumping petrol.
Indeed, my life has changed in many ways, some great, some good and some, well… never mind… always best to focus on the positive… like good posture and a lengthened Achilles. Right, Posh?
