Walking tall

Calling all ladies “of a certain age” (by which I mean over the age of thirty): Let’s talk high heels. Or, to be more specific: Have your high heel-wearing days been in decline since the halcyon days of your twenties? Or are you still flying the flag for glamorous women the world over by squeezing your tootsies daily – a la Mrs Beckham – into skyscraper shoes that would dwarf the Shard?

I ask this question because it’s recently dawned on me that these days – bar the odd wedding or social engagement that demands smartness – I almost never wear high heels. I’m honestly not sure if this was a gradual decline or an abrupt change but, either way, I seem to have lost the glamour factor somewhere along the line.

And it’s not just when it comes to footwear. Not only have I not had a hair cut in over six months, most days when I roll out of bed and open my wardrobe to select an outfit I completely bypass the (admittedly few) corporate dresses in favour of my staple (and so ancient they practically pre-date the dinosaurs) comfort outfits. On the odd days when I do reintroduce a smart top or shirt (usually because everything else is in the wash) I get complimented by my colleagues on how nice I look. But does it tempt me to dress like that every day? Does it heck.

The thing is this: I place a very high premium on comfort. Why put yourself in constant pain by wearing towering heels all day long, or squeeze yourself into smart office wear that makes you feel uncomfortable (when, let’s face it, you’ll just be spending eight hours slumped over your desk inhaling minstrels anyway)?

This all rather begs the questions: When did I become this slob who doesn’t care about her appearance?! Is it age or laziness that’s made me this way? Whatever the answers to these questions, I’ve come to work today in a smart dress and towering heels, and have booked myself a hair appointment for this Thursday. I may have got into bad habits over the years, but I’m not ready to call it quits on glamour just yet…


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