The Thing About Flats . . .

Ok. I know that right off the bat that there are going to be scores (I can dream) of you who strongly disagree with me on this topic - [my 15-year-old self being one of them].

But I feel as if it's a crucial (always with a grain of salt, folks. it's a fashion blog) enough subject to broach semi-seriously,

so let's do this. 

I don't like flats. 

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I don't like flats at all. 

Not unless they're so fricken obnoxious as to make for an indisputably loud statement about my persistant desire to not be accepted by society (trend (or anti-trend?) dependent, though currently: birkenstocks, adidas-striped sandals, bright white nurse-reminiscent tennis shoes, my grandma's work brogues from 70 years ago). 

To be honest, though, I'm not 100% certain about what initiated this severe dislike for ballet flat-esque footwear. 

I do know, however, that even my 15-year-old non-heel-wearing self would rather wear birkenstocks than anything resembling a ballerina's shoe. 

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So I've tentatively come to the conclusion that my aversion to low altitudes comes from a poorly-developed sense of femininity. 

Flats were always something that the demure, pretty, very girly (cool. I really just mean cool) girls wore, 

and something that the bumbling, goofy, slightly (very) awkward kids like me avoided. 

If a nice event arose, I'd resign, but otherwise, I stuck solely (heh) to chunky soles.

Unfortunately, at the time, heels, for an awkward tall girl, were equally as improper, so little Gabby tread mostly in sandal territory for a good, oh, I don't know, 

18 years of her life. 

And then she found heels.
 

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[[it's like finding God.
In a totally religiously-offensive way.]]

I distinctly remember my first heel hunt courtesy of TJ Maxx, when my mom finally won the argument that those amazing black dominatrix strappy booties would not, in fact, be appropriate for my fall internship in DC. 

Pointed single-soles it was (I know, ironic now). 

So what began for work, progressed to play, and eventually to trips to the downstairs grocery store, and Sunday night dress up sessions, and painful first [last] dates, and lots of equally inappropriate situations. 

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Pandora's Box was opened -- and for the first time I'd found a species of shoe that simultaneously allowed me to feel like a woman, without having to feel graceful or delicate, light

or girly. 

Flats had always been the only option for feminine footwear,

 but flats were never loud or heavy (or obnoxious) enough to convey the sort of things that I felt inside,  

These, however, were: 

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Today, 

I'll embrace flats if they're ironic or funny or chunky, 

but otherwise I'm out. 

Maybe with age, I'll develop the kind of peace with my elderly feminine grace that allows me to indulge in this sort of shoe. 

or maybe I'll just keep breaking my hip and needing to find footwear that adequately represents my perpetually erratic nature.

I'm betting on the latter. 

join me on Instagram for more of these gems (@looksharpsconnie)

Cheers.

PS: Any advice for coming to terms w/ flats would be much appreciated... If I complain about not being able to wear heels one more time, my mother may eventually knock me off of my crutches.