Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, March 21, 1993 TAG: 9303180371
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: ALMENA HUGHES
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
JUST TRY TIPTOEING THROUGH NOSTALGIA WHEN YOU'RE WALKING THIS TALL . . .
I really liked platform shoes when last they were the height of fashion - back in the '70s. So naturally I was excited when the style pundits forecast their resurgence for spring.Platforms have a lot going for them. The inches they add to your height automatically create an optical illusion of weight loss - important once your hip width exceeds your age.
The shoes' chunky contours slenderize by contrast even the most elephantine ankles. And you don't have to worry about people copying your look because not everyone can or will wear platforms - although it seems there was a time about 20 years ago when almost everyone did.
But if you can't remember the '70s, then you're part of the generation the new platforms are aimed at.
Just think of those tan and turquoise numbers hustling in a recent Virginia Lottery commercial - hideous - and high enough to really twist an ankle if you fall off of them. They're from the '70s; they're what platforms should be.
By comparison, the new '90s styles are - well, wimpy. They seldom add more than three inches of height, and their color combinations are not only imaginable but complementary.
So I knew I'd have to compromise in my search for an ideal shoe. But I'd bend only so far.
I absolutely refused boring basic black suedes and leathers I found in late February and early March.
I ruled out a few stark whites because they visually enlarged my size 9 feet. (For once, I didn't want to be a 10.)
And I rejected any shoes whose weight hinted they were made of genuine leather over cement blocks.
Some of the neon pinks, blues, greens and multicolors that started showing up in early March were kind of pretty. But their puny 1/2-inch soles simply had no soul.
Then one day, I found them. The perfect platforms. A soft, persimmony shade of red nubuck with laces to wind all the way up to the calves or to wrap seductively about the ankles.
They'd just arrived, the salesman told me. He had one pair in my size.
"These are hot," he said, proffering one of the shoes toward me with both hands, like a steward offering a bottle of vintage wine.
As he meticulously straightened the laces and tied them, I wrestled with the decadence of abandoning myself to shoes that sizzled.
"Walk around and see how they feel," he suggested.
Sure. Easy for him to say.
Grasping both chair handles, I arm-lifted myself to a standing position. I swayed slightly till the vertigo passed. Squaring my shoulders, I took a few tentative steps.
Your feet don't bend when you walk in wedge-bottomed platforms. So you compensate by stepping a little higher than usual and looking sort of like a stork on cinder blocks.
I stopped in front of a full-length mirror and critically examined the view. The salesman was right. The shoes were hot.
Ideally, I would have had along a trusted companion for an objective second opinion. Instead, I had to heed snatches of TV commercials that forced their way into my head: "Taste it all!" "Be young!" "Go for the gusto!" "Just do it!"
"Wrap them up," I said, removing the shoes in front of the mirror to avoid teetering back to the chair.
Now, you can't any more wear a new pair of platforms with an old outfit than you can rehang old curtains in a freshly painted room. The shoes demanded a dress, jewelry, handbag, stockings, lipstick, blush and new hair style. And I obliged.
Once home I walked about in the shoes, mastering forward, turning and stairs. Once I could easily sit, stand, cross and uncross my ankles without tangling up and toppling over, my platforms and I made our public debut.
We drew two basic reactions. People either said they loved them, or they pretended not to notice.
The lovers wanted to know where I bought them - Kinney's; if they were comfortable - yes; and how I got them tied in the back - I'm not sure.
Because I stood 6 feet tall in the shoes and had on a red skirt and checked stockings, I doubted anyone hadn't noticed. I high-stepped right up to the pretenders and insisted, "So what do you think?"
One dear friend, after much prodding, shamefacedly said, "I hate them." Another friend (I think) merrily cackled, "I'm just glad I don't have to wear them."
A couple of people said I looked like I could get back to Kansas by clicking my heels twice.
My minister committed to: "Yes, those are some shoes."
And my husband - who is seldom without an opinion on anything - wisely forwent judgment in favor of maintaining marital harmony.
That night when I removed the platforms, my legs felt all wobbly/tingly like I'd just come off an hours-long roller-skating jaunt. I could still feel the impressions where the laces had been. I walked funny for probably a half hour while my gait readjusted. And the bottoms of my feet felt numb.
It was just like I remember from the '70s. I'm really gonna like these shoes.