Aimee Horton

My wardrobe? Bulging. Handbags? Hundreds. Jewellery? Put a pearly queen to shame. Shoes? Urgh. Soulless. Literally.

You see, I’m tall. 5 foot 9 inches of tall and whilst plenty of height endowed ladies proudly slip on a pair of 4 inches, I’ve never felt comfortable. Having a petite group of girlfriends doesn’t help and isn’t conducive when their added 5 inches brings them up to eye level. And no matter how good a friend they are, no one appreciates you resting your cocktail on their shoulder. Being head and shoulders above them all is not only uncomfortable but impractical. I feel like Lumpy Addams. An Amazon. Hell, like a drag queen. Trouble is, I love heels which is why my shoe collection is so meagre. A pair of flats, pretty flats, is fine with me. No, they don’t ignite the same excitement as a pair of killer heels, but they do their job. The time I spent on work placement at a luxury department store, less time was spent visual merchandising, more cradling a Choo, loving a Louboutin, molesting a McQueen. Alas, I would sigh, acknowledging our love affair was doomed to be unrequited.

Until, one day, something hit me. Maybe it was the electric jolt of ‘LOOK AT ME, I DARE YA!’ fuchsia, it could have been the ‘TOUCH ME’ flocked velvet finish, perhaps it was the ‘STROKE ME’ glistening gold orb or even the ‘SMELL ME’ bubblegum scent (who am I kidding? It was ALL of those things). But I saw them. And I fell in love. All 4.7 inches of Vivienne Westwood magic. Fully aware that these quirky block courts would raise me to a supermodel 6ft 1⁴⁵⁄₆₄ inches didn’t phase me. In fact, I was so dazzled I didn’t notice that my ‘superhuman’ thoughts had been replaced with ‘supermodel’. I quickly resigned myself that buying them to stand proudly on a shelf would deny their destiny, not to mention taunt my tootsies. No. I couldn’t do that (not again). No, this time it was different and instead of shuffling away in my brogues, I tried them on. They fit. They were remarkably comfy. I wasn’t Lily Savage. I was Lily Cole. Christ, yes, I was tall but despite myself, I loved it because, well, because THESE SHOES LOOK BLOODY AMAZING!

I had to buy them. Any shoe that transformed my figure, posture and attitude in one fell fuchsia flocked swoop was a must. I bought them and felt the undeniable thrill of finally being able to grace not only my feet, but my wardrobe with a pair of obscenely sexy skyscrapers. Who’d have thought revolutionising the planes of my shoe drawer would do the same to me? No longer am I going to let my height insecurity blight a beautiful, sole enhancing relationship. The consensus being, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Admittedly, I’m yet to wear them but that is only because their planned inaugural ceremony is at another. Oh so beautiful, the shoes with a side of swagger (comes as standard) will be unveiled at a family wedding later in the year. I’m not even panicking about being Gulliver, instead I am happy in the knowledge that all eyes will be on my sexy, statement, kick ass shoes.

And the bride. Obviously.

Posted by: The Fairest of Them All (not Aimee)