Killer shoes? You have absolutely no idea

Brenda Tavakoli

Clomp-clunk-clomp-clunk-clomp-clunk-clomp-clunk. Clunk.

So goes the sound that accompanies me as I stomp around campus, or anywhere else the day leads me.

For some reason my walk is heavier, louder and more distinct than anyone else's I know of. It has a lot to do with the way I walk and what shoes adorn my feet.

People literally turn around when they hear me clomping along behind them at a brisk clip. It must bring school-days memories, when the sound of heels clickety-clacking down the breezeway meant the teacher was nearly back to the class and that the kiddos had better start behaving fast.

Or maybe they just think a horse has escaped and is trotting around behind them.

Speaking of animals, some of my co-workers theorize that my shoes weigh me down, causing the telltale clomp-clunk sound. One of them once stared at my shoes and gasped, "Those shoes weigh more than you do!"

"That's right," I proudly replied.

But do I really care? Do I, for even a moment, take into account the long term damage this fashionable footwear might cause?

Of course not.

And I would venture to say I'm not alone in my quest to build outfits around pairs of painful shoes. Many girls stomp around campus, grimaces of determined pain plastered permanently on their faces. Yet their shoes are cute as buttons.

Some of those ladies have pride. When it comes to shoes, they try to look delicate and buy them several sizes too small. Not me. I can wear up to a size eight and will freely admit it.

I am not ashamed to buy shoes in the correct sizes, but buying shoes with anything less than a two-inch heel proves a daunting prospect for me. Why should I sink my money into something that will not make me noticeably taller?

One of the newer additions to my shoe collection, a pair of chocolate brown loafers, sports four-inch semi-block heels.

So I decided to be smart one morning and slipped them on without any forethought regarding how I would make it through the day. After all, my outfit demanded that pair of shoes as the final touch.

Without a backward glance, I began hoofing it to class. Soon I realized my choice was a huge mistake, an idiotic decision obviously made in some altered, sleep-deprived state.

First of all, the shoes were about a size too big, something I had noticed but tried to rationalize. They were on sale, okay?

Secondly, the shoes were loud. If these infamous loafers were a band, they were as loud as live Metallica compared to, say, Barry Manilow on your mom's warped eight-track.

Worst of all, these shoes slowed me down. I was ten minutes late to class instead of five.

That's the price one pays for trying to break in shoes on a busy day. But do I still wear them? Of course! With insoles firmly intact. As for my brain, well, that's another story...

Tavakoli is junior journalism major whose role models are Imelda Marcos and Mr. Ed.

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