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High heels are my latest obsession.

Well, they’ve been my obsession for while – since age fourteen when my Mum bought me my first pair of black Zoe Wittner T-bar pumps that I wore until they fell apart – but recently, it has been a real obsession. A daily one.

When I got back from Europe, I was having major high heel withdrawal. I hadn’t worn a pair of proper shoes since one fateful night in Paris.

You can read the whole story here, but the nub and gist is this: I wore very high heels, tried to find some nightclub and ended up lost in Paris. Needless to say, shit went down and my feet almost needed to be surgically removed. Then I made some dramatic statement about never wearing high heels again. Idiot.

When I got back, I was craving something other than converse and thongs! I needed to give some TLC to my lovely shoes that had been sitting in my cupboard for too long.

Let em loose babyyy!

And once I did, I remembered how much I loved them. In, you know, a nice safe environment free from walking and youth hostels.

Then I got a job in fashion, which is very bad for my bank account, but is doing tremendous things for my wardrobe.

Every day at work, I sit next to our fabulous graphic designer, who is basically perfection crammed into one tiny, amazing chick.

Immaculately dressed, flawless make-up, coiffed hair and amazing shoes.

I repeat, A-M-A-Z-I-N-G shoes.

Enter phase two of shoe obsession dammit.

And phase three – I am addicted.

I can no longer wear flats. I don’t like how they look. (With the exception of these Valentino Studded black and beige pointed toe ones. But they also come with a heel so why bother?)
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They are just so… well… flat!

It is kinda like coffee. When I first started drinking coffee, I got this spectacular buzz after my single skinny cap. A happy, contented, warm buzz which made me burst with energy.

Now I need a double shot long black before I can even speak. Buzz comes later after I get my piccolo latte from Barefoot, and that also depends on whether or not the hot guy is working.

(Oh you know which bloody HOT ONE. The dark one with the amazing eyes. Yeahhh you got it now? Good <3)

Or like when you first start wearing mascara!! Year 7, it looks awesome. Your eyelashes become these spidery legs, bright and sparkling. Then you discover eyeliner. Even more amazing.

But what happens now when you only wear mascara now huh? SUNGLASSES HAPPEN, that’s what!!!

Now when I wear flats I feel short. And fat. And boring. I feel unexceptional. And I don’t like it.

I know heels give you blisters. My feet are permanently scarred and covered in bandaids.

I know they are giving me back problems (my masseuse told me to stop wearing them and go for soft sand runs. And here I thought massages were supposed to be ENJOYABLE!!!)

I know they sometimes make me fall over into the wall at the DVD store (no-one saw, thank fuck).

I know they are expensive, and ridiculous.

But I am ignoring that for now because I am young and reckless. Or stupid, take your pick.

Heels rock and make everything look better! And at nineteen, I can think of far more important things to be doing than being comfortable!!