A Mommy Story

A friend alerted me to these today:

They’re high-heeled crib shoes for babies. In other words, baby’s first pair of heels. Now, don’t go off the deep end yet – they’re not real heels. If a baby tries to stand on them, the heels collapse. They’re meant for fun, of course.

These are cute, and I’ll admit I laughed when I first saw them. But of course, I always wonder what message this is sending to little girls, especially at the hands of women who are obsessed with heels. Oh sure, the baby isn’t going to remember being dressed up in her leopard print heels, but her big sister might. Will she be wanting heels also? And then demanding to go see Sex and the City with you and your friends?

When I started junior high, the pressure to fit in really hit me, and I wanted to wear heels like the other girls. I begged and begged my mom to get me a pair of shoes with heels, preferably something larger than half an inch. She continued to refuse, until my first band performance, when we were required to dress up: black skirts, white blouses, and black dress shoes. I had outgrown my old dress shoes, and used this chance to pressure my mom into a pair of heels.

I found this beautiful pair of shiny black shoes with a two and a half inch heel. Mom said no way, naturally. But I begged, throwing in that all the other girls were wearing heels and I didn’t want to be the reject who didn’t have heels and yes, I’d like to go jump off that bridge with them, too.

My mom is a smart woman. She recognized a pre-teen teaching moment in the shoe section of Sears, and agreed to buy them. I got home and immediately took my new prized possession out of the box and slipped them on. I wobbled my way around the house, trying to keep my balance without looking down.

And five minutes later, as my legs ached and my toes burned from the pressure, I realized I did not want heels. But it was too late. My only pair of dress shoes for that school year had been purchased, and I had to live with my choice.

Five minutes at home was nothing compared to an hour and a half band performance. And I didn’t play an instrument that let me sit down – I played drums/xylophone. Each time I had to wear those shoes didn’t seem to lessen the blisters, the pain, and the thought that I was insane for thinking heels were a good idea. (And yes, the shoes fit well.)

I was so happy to get rid of them at the end of the school year. I still wore heels when I went to prom, and a few other occasions, but I generally wanted them to be shorter.

Now, I’ll admit to not being fashion forward. My fashion tends towards comfort than style most of the time. I haven’t willingly worn high heels in a long time. Even for my wedding, I wore silver sandals – I refused to be uncomfortable on my wedding day. This isn’t to say that I won’t wear heels at all, but an inch or so is my absolute max, and it has to be a chunky heel to prevent any chance of wobbling. Most of the time I prefer flat shoes. Go ahead, call me a fashion don’t or a hippie – my relaxed feet can take it.

For nursing school, we have a clinical at a different location each quarter. This quarter we were at an orthopedic surgery floor. Lots of people having total joint replacements, ankle stabilizations, corrective foot surgery, etc. Most of the men I cared for had the same start to their problems: sports. Many of the women I cared for also had the same start to their problems: wearing heels all the time. Suddenly my choice doesn’t seem so backwards, since flats are more fashionable than surgery scars.

So my reaction to these baby heels is that they’re cute, and should be used as the creators intended: to dress a baby girl in for one or two occasions as a good joke (hence the name Heelarious). But if you’re putting your infant daughter in them more than once every week or two, I think it’s time for a high heel intervention.