Friday, April 23, 2010



I walked out of the apartment this morning with a confident swagger. While a bit on the groggy side (not since the days of high school have I managed a 6 a.m., caffeine-free wakeup call), I was feeling pretty good.

I wore a slim-fit, black pencil skirt on bottom and a light pink silk blouse on top. Coupled with a pair of sleek new high heels, I was the symbolic representation of ‘corporate and sexy.’

After I basked in self-glow for an entire two minutes, I took to the streets. I hit the pavement and suddenly felt a bad mood come over me. I was immobilized and trapped. My morning ‘hustle and shuffle’ subway routine was immediately impaired, and with every step, I felt as though I wasn’t moving at all.

What was happening to me? I was going nowhere fast…


As it turns out, you can’t run in heels. Not only can you not run in heels, you can’t skip, dance, jump or walk to the subway stop either.

Within 24 hours of my high heel purchase, I experienced a brutal reality. The majority of relationships in life tend to represent every emotion and its opposite, and my relationship with these high heels was going to be no different.
Heels may present a seemingly flash and hot exterior, but don’t be fooled. At their core they are corrupt, malicious, and possibly diseased.


My New York swagger was no longer, and the swiftness of my step was now stifled, leaving me with a terribly unsexy and impish limp. I could tell already- this was not going to be a good day.

(Thirty seconds later)

After I kicked myself (literally, with my steel heel until my ankles bled), I shook my hair loose, regained my composure and set afoot once more.


“I’ll be damned if anyone recognizes that I’m a rookie in these shoes!” I said to myself.
And just like that, the sun poked its gaze through the clouds, and I felt that my bad mood had disappeared.

I picked up my pace, and suddenly heard someone scream.

“I WAS BORN IN HIGH HEELS!” proclaimed the voice, over and over again.


And that’s when I realized, the sound was coming from…me. I was the lunatic screaming at the very top of my lungs.

As I stormed through the streets, neighbors, both young and old, started to cheer. The cheering was quiet at first, but grew increasingly loud with each step. The cheering turned into clapping-it began one clap at a time the way it does in the movies- and the enthusiastic praise echoed throughout the streets.

By the time I reached the subway station, the neighborhood was in an uproar. As I entered the subway terminal, I caught one final glimpse of my neighbors.

“You can do this, Katelyn!” the crowd yelled in unison, “It’s all you!”

I turned to them before entering the tunnel and nodded: Yes, New York, I can.