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Walking the Walk

A few months back, I wore some kitten heals on the blog and made a big ol’ deal about it. Granted, for a girl who has never worn so much as a heavy tread for fear of adding to her stature, it was a big deal. But sometimes—and all bloggers will attest to this—there can be a split between blog life and real life. For example, I’ll fully admit I look ten times more put together on my blog than I do off the blog. Frankly, most of the time I look like this:

But I DO always make a point of wearing everything I blog. The heels thing, however, has been a bit of a gray area. I certainly have more heels than I used to since that initial triumphant post, but I don’t really wear them as often as some of you may have been led to believe. That post wasn’t some magic switch that suddenly blasted away all my many years of feeling just a teensy bit too tall. Sure, I’ve worn them to a dinner with Matt when I know I’ll be sitting down quickly. I’ve worn them if I’m walking some very short distance to get a post-outfit shoot snack. I’ve worn them in my house when “I’m all up in the kitchen in my heels” like Beyoncé (haha, just kidding: I don’t cook and am therefore never in the kitchen).

But had I busted them out for a long night on the town in hoards of other small people? Nope.

However, that all changed a few weekends ago (not the cooking, the heel-wearing). My friend Sandra (who is also tall and oft mistaken for a Swedish volleyball player) organized a girls trip to Niagara Falls to celebrate her birthday. I had already thrifted an outfit for the event: A gray mini from the Salvation Army (that’s vintage but looks so modern it’s crazay) and some other golden accessories, but I was still without a decent pair of shoes. The theme of the night was “high roller,” and seeing as I would be surrounded by leopard print and sequins, I was relying on the right shoe to up the ante.

Well, guys, I quickly discovered it’s very hard to thrift statement flats. On the flipside, it’s very easy to thrift statement heels. For example, I found these edgy $4.99 wedges in record time at Talize on my lunch break. They’re pretty fierce, right? Except they are about 3 inches outside my comfort zone. But as I sat in that Talize, stroking these lovely wedges like a creepy cat lady, I thought “Dang Julie. If you won’t even wear heels surrounded by a gaggle of your tall friends, you never will”. (Yes, all my internal monologues are in the third person).

So that was that. It was time to walk the walk I promised all those months ago: I was going wearing heals, for longer than three-quarters on a hour.

Friday arrived. We took over three hotel rooms with the sweet smell of hairspray and cupcakes, and I laced up. I felt absolutely gargantuan, but pretty awesome. I was, without question, the tallest chick in Niagara. 6’4 and hella-proud. The other thing I noticed is that once you get above the 6’1 mark, people stop commenting! I guess at 6’1 people still think there’s a chance you may not know you’re tall, but at 6’4 their like “Daaaang, that girl knows“. That, or I’m just a little scary – like a yeti or a dauntingly-large sub.

In an effort to make sure I practice what I preach, I’ve since remixed those wedges and that dress a few more times, this time with a newly-thrifted Jacob vest and my trusty faux-leather leggings.

So, what’s the next step in this relationship? While I do feel like a certain personal goal has been fulfilled, I don’t see myself forming a long-term relationship with high heels. See, about four hours into the evening, my feet were weeping silent tears of pain. And while I’m all for feeling secure and confident and all that Oprah-love-yourself-BS, I’m not for willingly inflicting pain on oneself for a sweet pair o’ shoes. Because, let’s be real here, the heels might look nice, but they don’t give me a warm fleecy hug like my Snuggie, nor do they catch the crumbs from the pile of chips on my lap. And when you compare sore toes to warm hugs, warm hugs win out every time.

That said, my friends might hope I reconsider: Turns out 6’4 is the perfect height for giving a pretty great hug. I’m like a walking Snuggie. Just feed me chips and I’ll dispense free hugs all night.


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