Put on your high heel sneakers, Lordy
Wear your wig-hat on your head
Word out of the Cannes Film Festival (and I always pay attention to such stuff) is that skirts in flat shoes were taboo. High heels or stay home. This has caused a certain amount of outrage in some distaff quarters, but I say that the oily Eurotrash who run the Cannes shindig should prevail.
I mean, high heels just evoke a certain imagery that they feel should be adhered to by the dames who want to featured at a bunfight that has promoted a lot of second rate films over the years. And jeunes femmes should be high-heeled just for the esthetics of it and the gratification of randy old men. And I do confess to being a bit of a fetishist of the female foot, let and posterior. I’m OK with that. I could have worse passions.
Oh, well, aside from the fact the patently offensive Cannes rule is hugely sexist and not that far removed from the old Chinese practice of foot-binding for women. I know of a case – and I will qualify my comment by mentioning (so sue me) I love the look of a woman in heels – in which heels worked their wonders on an individual. I once worked with a comely lass who always wore remarkably high heels every day and the heels did for her what they were intended to do, and rendered her even more pleasing to the eye than she already was.
One day I was working on a Saturday morning and she came in wearing sneakers. I made the observation that I had never seen her in flat shoes. She told me that she had run into problems with her feet and that she had worn heels for so long that her Achilles tendons had foreshortened and she would have to wear flats for as long as she could to get her feet to where they should be for walking, hiking, cycling and the like.
And to her credit she stuck with her new approach and was able to walk agreeably again.
Our feet are the only ones we have so perhaps women should be entitled to respect them. I am good with that, and to hell with Cannes.