THERE’S nothing like returning to your old haunts to remind you how uncool you now are.
At the ripe old age of 34, a recent trip to my home town made me feel positively ancient.
A friend and I hit the high street for a few nostalgic drinks.
But in our dressy outfits and elegant heels, I soon realised that we stuck out like sore thumbs.
Gazing around the bar, I noticed that the hordes of girls pouring in were ALL wearing flats.
Ballet pumps, trainers and biker boots ruled — there wasn’t a heel in sight. I was absolutely horrified.
After some Dutch courage, I even went up to one unsuspecting girl and asked where her heels were.
I was met with a glare that read: “Go away, old-timer.”
My youth was soundtracked by the clacking of heels on the pavement, the dance floor and, inevitably, at the kebab shop.
Eagerly waiting in the nightclub queue, I knew my lack of ID wouldn’t be an issue because I looked statuesque in my trusty Dolcis stilettos.
Heels made me feel womanly, more glam and grown-up — even if the braces on my teeth did not.
They also make you stand up a little straighter and feel more confident, and they accentuate your calves and thighs.
They’re the difference between a good outfit and a bad one.
Because let’s face it, you would not be caught dead in a peplum dress without stilettos.
I am one of the lucky ones. I’ve always found it a breeze to walk in heels and would manage a whole night of standing in a bar, dancing and loitering for a taxi in the early hours.
My pal and I discussed our favourite pairs while looking on in dismay at the droves of women in their trainers.
Clemmie Fieldsend
Legendary French shoe designer Christian Louboutin said: “High heels are pleasure with pain.”
We all recall the sight of those girls who would walk home from a night out while carrying their heels in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, the stone-cold cobblestones cooling the balls of their throbbing feet.
You would bond with strangers in the nightclub loos by swapping plasters or assisting with loo-roll origami to maximise the comfort of their stilettos.
But the feeling of confidence you get when wearing heels eclipses the misery of tortured toes.
During our recent night out, my pal and I discussed our favourite pairs while looking on in dismay at the droves of women in their trainers.
I had several £19.99 New Look pairs that, towards the end of their life, had changed colour due to the amount of drinks that had been spilled on them.
Primark and Topshop did affordable dupes of the Christian Dior Gladiator heels Carrie Bradshaw made famous in the first Sex And The City film.
Carrie, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, is a cultural icon to millennials and older. In one of the most fashionable TV shows in history, her heels were a part of her personality.
Before Carrie, I witnessed the Spice Girls conquer the world in their platform heels.
The iconic supermodels of the Nineties wore towering heels, too, while Sandy from Grease transformed from schoolgirl to vamp in those skin-tight trousers and red-heeled mules.
And do you think Cinderella would have been as dazzling if it was all about a glass trainer? I doubt it.
A few years ago, I broke my toe and had to wear flats to a wedding. I was crushed — I’d never felt so small and dumpy.
Even in summer, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a flat sandal for work. Aside from looking lazy, I can’t bear the slapping echoes that follow the sandal wearer.
The pandemic caused a seismic shift in how we dress.
Everyone became used to comfort fashion, be it loungewear, bralettes or flat shoes.
Marks & Spencer says the bestselling style of shoe is a £35 square-toed leather ballet pump.
Clemmie Fieldsend
But when it came to resurrecting our workwear and looking presentable, the trend switched to casual.
Lyst has reported 67 per cent fewer searches for high heels over the past two years.
On the high street, Marks & Spencer says the bestselling style of shoe is a £35 square-toed leather ballet pump, and sales of trainers have increased by a quarter since April last year.
I barely see heels anywhere now — and I’m not alone.
TikTok is flooded with videos of women as perplexed as me at the sight of girls in clubs in trainers, baggy jeans and vest tops.
One user, @amandaleefarinaa, racked up 6.6million views of her simply panning around and showing everyone in this Gen Z uniform.
“Wearing flats to a club” now has more than 41million views, “clubbing outfits flat shoes” has 62million.
The users are all showing their dismay at the lack of heels.
But Gen Zs wearing flats does have its upsides.
There are fewer bunions around and I no longer see the dry cracks of people’s heels in slingbacks, or unmanicured toes in heeled sandals. So they’ve done us a favour there.
But I will always love heels. I wear them on nights out, in the office, on my commute, on holiday, on Christmas Day — whenever there is an opportunity.
No, I do not wear them to the supermarket or while doing the washing-up, but I will never go out-out without a pair.
Unlike Gen Z, I will keep my standards, and heels, high.
