IMOW - A Rumination On Heels

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A Rumination On Heels
Nana K. Twumasi

United States

GALLERY

CONVERSATION

My initiation was humble enough: Last spring I purchased an unassuming pair of black sandals with low, modest heels.

The straps were too tight around the widest parts of my feet and cinched my toes. Even keeping them on while I walked was an exercise in near-futility. The minute I reached the sidewalk after leaving work for the day, I'd take my new sandals off, absorb the heat from the pavement through my soles while taking care to avoid bits of broken glass and newly discarded wads of gum.

In the city, where green spaces are limited, I must substitute concrete for grass; I liken a pebble digging into my arch to an errant Lego block thrown carelessly in the yard outside my childhood home. I miss it, sometimes - the topsoil between my toes, the grass scratching my tender skin. I did not think of high-heeled shoes, then. Or toenail polish or the perfect piece of jewelry to complement the perfect outfit.

In terms of dress, I prefer to feel at ease. Certainly, I make an effort to look presentable, but I find it difficult and often frustrating to maintain the prescribed notion of femininity as this concept does not often lend itself to comfort.

I was an average, tomboyish adolescent - fashionable at the time. As a teenager I crowded closets with leather and canvas evidence of my shoe fetish.
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