You know what I don't own? (besides season Pens tickets, the Jon Lester shirt I want, the entire Bad Religion discography that I suddenly need?) I don't own high heels. And I don't want to. I've walked in heels twice: once to the Rocky Horror Picture Show in Cambridge, and once on Halloween. Just about a year ago now, both last October. The first time, it rained like hell and I stepped in a massive puddle as soon as we got off the train, and I spent the next four hours with soaking wet feet, slipping and sliding on rice trying to balance on these tiny fucking points I'm supposed to jump up on and do the Time Warp at the same time. The second time, well, it was Halloween (and I was supposed to be a mod chick, I had this rad British flag dress, but everyone instantly assumed I was a Spice Girl, so I just rolled with it). And four of my friends and I walked a good mile or so down Massachusetts Avenue looking for a party to attend, only to fail miserably and have to walk the entire way back. I still count it as one of my all-time greatest athletic achievements that I didn't collapse.
Today, again, it was Cambridge. Except I wore blue low-top Converses, because I still have scars on my feet from the last time I wore my newest black flats, and because we were going to a journalism career fair, at which I would almost certainly not be judged on my footwear. I went with two guys and two girls, and both of the other girls changed from rain boots into heels halfway there, complaining and groaning and clearly in pain, tottering off the train and stumbling on the Harvard cobblestones. I walked ahead with one of the guys, because we were walking at the same pace. And I'm glad for that. My feet didn't hurt. If a bear from the wilds of eastern Massachusetts (okay, no such thing - a crazed Patriots fan, maybe) came barreling down the street to attack, I could have run or climbed up a fire escape or ninja-kicked him. I kept up with the boy I wanted to talk to. And I got to talk to the recruiters from big publications just the same as everyone else did.
One of my friends - one of the girls in heels - was complaining about them, and I said, "why do you
wear them?" She said, "they make me taller." I have got to be missing something. I'm 5'2", maybe a hair more, and back when I thought I was going to be a professional basketball player, sure, I wished I were taller. But ever since I quit basketball, height hasn't really been on my mind. And I don't think it's ever been on my mind to the point that I would put myself in pure, unrelenting agony for hours on end, just to be two or three inches taller. I was born short. And I was born with an instinct for avoiding unnecessary pain for the sake of so-called "beauty" or "style."
There's another thing. It doesn't make me any less of a girl, or a woman, not to want to wear shoes that hurt. What an absolutely arbitrary concept. I don't want to weaken myself, or put myself in pain, or put myself in a position where I can't move at my own pace and not be distracted by my shoes. I feel like this makes me a logical human being, if anything. I have a right to wear the shoes I want, free of judgment, and not feel - is there a feminine equivalent of "emasculated"? E-feminated? Doesn't sound quite right. But either way, I am who I am, and I'll wear the shoes that best allow me to enjoy my life. And that's all I have to say about that.
As usual, I want to post about two things at the same time, but the segue is difficult and I don't feel like forcing one. I basically just want to say this: I just watched
Good Will Hunting for the second time, and that is a movie that hits me in all the right places. Really blows your hair back, as they say. The funny parts are hysterical (Ben and Casey Affleck, please get drunk and tell me stories all the time), the sad parts are heartbreaking, and every detail is worth remembering. Not to mention that it's a visual love letter to Boston, and everyone has accents (which I love! 98% of America thinks they're annoying, I don't fucking care,
I adore Boston accents).
The exchange Sean and Will have about soulmates blows me away. The speeches Sean makes to him about actually experiencing life, about not backing off just to keep things perfect and idealized and let yourself imagine how they're going to turn out - it gets me. Robin Williams, in his infinite wisdom, knows what's going on. Even if he did fucking skip Game 6 of the 1975 World Series. He convinces me that it was worth it to miss Carlton Fisk's walk-off homer, and that's a damned impressive thing to do.
FACT: I have the right to check out athletes I think are hot. Even if I'm emotionally twelve sometimes and blush when I have to say it in front of boys who judge me. Hey, fair is fair: y'all get to go on about Russian tennis player chicks and gymnasts, I get to dig on Josh Beckett. This is the 21st century.
