On the Politics of Stilletos

The shoes, not the knives.

In a conversation about an article discussing Michelle Obama's appearance and apparent level of self-acceptance over at Shakesville, the fact that she wears flats rather than high heels was brought up as a sign of her refusal to kowtow to societal expectations of what a professional woman in the public eye looks like. It was then mentioned that she is six feet tall: my height.

And that got me thinking about the funny way that heels fit into our society's policing of women's appearances. On the one hand, they are seen as a symbol of femininity--and particularly the feminine ideal that has been constructed by men and imposed on women, whether we find it appealing or not. In fact, I'd say that heels, along with makeup, are the first symbols of imposed femininity that get tossed out the window in a show of defiance by feminists who wish to reject society's expectations for women. In a way, they've become shorthand for submission to those expectations, for appeasement of the male gaze. And there's some truth to that. But then we get to the other hand: if you are a woman above a certain height (5'9", 5'10"? Certainly once you hit 6' it's a given), you are too tall. You become threatening, unladylike. And there ain't no way that you're going to wear high heels without catching serious flak for it. "Why do you need those? You're too tall as it is," is a common one. Some people will even tell you that you aren't "allowed" to wear anything higher than a running shoe. High heels become something that proper women, appropriately feminine women, get to wear. When you wear them, it's emasculating. You just have to hope that one day, you'll be lucky enough to find a man taller than you--because, apparently, that is the natural order of things and, for many men, having a female partner who is of equal height to or taller than them is a fate worse than death--who will grudgingly accept your excessive height, so long as you stick to flats.

I've take enough crap over the years for my height that height issues have become a deal-breaker for me. I tend to be attracted to smaller men (in fact, I feel downright threatened by men who are significantly taller than I am and have never managed to date one for long), which means I've ended more than a few relationships because men just couldn't deal with my size (or other aspects of my physicality: I'm also quite muscular for such a slim build, and just plain don't fall into the "delicate flower" ideal).

And then, one day, I decided I didn't care anymore. I love the way I look in heels, and I love the way they make me feel--towering, powerful and yes, sexy. And I bought my first pair of 4-inch stilletos. I was in a new relationship at that point, and actually took my 5'9" partner shoe shopping with me. His enthusiastic reaction to my choice--largely because he could see how amazing they made me feel--was one of the big cues that this was a relationship I wanted to stay in. We're getting married next summer, and damned if I won't tower over him at the wedding.

Since then, I've bought several pairs of high heeled shoes. And every time I well them, I still feel that little thrill of rebellion, and I still think I look like I could take over the entire world when I stand in them in front of the mirror. For me, high-heeled shoes are a way of magnifying and owning my height and my power as a tall woman who is beautiful on her own terms. To throw my stilletos out the window would not be a rebellion or an affirmation of my independence from patriarchal norms (though I don't for a moment disbelieve that it is that for a great many women); it would be submission. It would be just another way of sitting down and shutting up, of being a nice girl and fading into the background, of not rocking the boat. And I refuse to do that.

I think that stories like mine bear remembering when we start talking about the politics of women's appearance, especially in terms of conformity and defiance of social norms. One woman's total submission is another's glorious rebellion, and vice versa. If we keep the nuances in mind, if we remember that every woman's relationship with her body and appearance is an intensely personal one, then maybe we won't be so quick to judge other women's choices. And maybe we can look at those stories, those little personal victories, and celebrate them.

Bits & Bobs

Here's a round up of random things I found interesting today, as I continue to avoid going back to work on the epic of a post I have brewing:

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The old spectre of appearance policing within the feminist community has reared its ugly head again, and some interesting shit is going down both over at Hoyden About Town--a very worthwhile place to visit, by the by--and Shakesville in response to an opinion piece by one Monica Dux, who seems to think that non-conventionally attractive, hairy lesbians are bad for feminism's image (because, you know, it's a brand and we need to pay attention to what sells). Women on both sides of the appearance question--those who reject feminine beauty standards, and those who don't, at least not entirely--are talking about how it feels to be judged for their appearance, and there's a fair amount of judging going on as well. I don't have too much to add, as I think this whole business of presentation policing ultimately doesn't do anybody any good, except that somebody at a bigger blog than mine seems to have come to a similar conclusion: lookee.

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On another note, I love that the CBC is broadcasting results/news from the Paralympics with the same frequency and giving it the same prominence (first item on the hourly news) as they did with the "regular" Olympics. It's encourage to hear these amazing athletes getting the coverage they deserve, free of obsessive discussion of what exactly their disability is or other such fetishizing and othering bullshit.

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While flipping through the Hoyden archives, I came across this bit of brilliance from earlier this year. While I get the impression that trying to discuss anything with mAndrea is a little like arguing particle physics with the cat (I mean, shit. Her entire stated purpose for writing is to sway people to her one true path of feminism through her amazing powers of logic, and then she admits the following, "The extent of my study of logic consists of reading a couple webpages"? Really? Lauredhel is right: that is just desperately bad performance art) the arguments that many of the posters put forth--especially tigtog and Lisa Harney--are sheer brilliance, and I want to keep them forever and ever as a reference to make use of the next time I end up arguing with an anti-trans* arsehole.

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And finally, I saw a girl on the bus today wearing a shirt that said, "I'm just pretending to be gay for all the social benefits." It made me laugh in a way that snarky t-shirts seldom do, because it was just so...pointed...and smart.