Quarantine Made Me Long for Painful High Heels

Imagination repeats. I am in a crowd, shaking my head but only half listening to the conversation. The liquid in my glass has heated to an ineffective temperature. Impractical shoes hurt my foot – maybe the heel, maybe some kind of heavy, ornate boot. I wave to an acquaintance’s room, and my stacks of bracelets bang against each other, distracting me momentarily, pinch me with elaborately engineered strapless bras that I have already emptied into the taxi house Give.

How long can I do for such discomfort.

Fashion torture devices, already given as tools for handicapped women (cocktail dresses, corsets, pantyhose, odd-shaped handbags), took on a whole new cast in the epidemic, while comfort made their better replacement (tracksuit , Flats) appreciated) is now synonymous with being stuck at home: limited, constrained. It is clearly evident that the moral ratings that we give to clothing are from associations.

Heels – or, say, voodle-inding pencil skirts – were constricting only when one could rightly argue that the woman was pressured to wear them, suggesting a lack of choice. What happens to that principle when the choice to wear them is basically gone? And when the thirst for pouring them automatically manifests, on Tuesday morning quietly or on some occasion without calling, while eating leftovers from the fridge between video calls? Shut down, we can appreciate what makes us feel free: what we want, what we miss.

Sometimes, it turns out, that there is a complicated, troublesome fashion. Clothes that make us feel something, even if it is an inconvenience.

Recently, a British communications officer on WhatsApp, Charlotte Goodhart said, “I want big earrings.” “Where the peep of your lips ends.” Cheap metal hoops, which I unloaded on the way home and hooked together in my bag. “

“Imagine having a little bit of your body exposed, a crop top – cool air on the small part of my back,” she went on coincidentally, as someone mating a new partner. “When I was a teenager and I wore a crop top, if it was a little cold, my dad would always say, ‘Hey poor kidneys.’ I yearn for a frozen kidney. “

I told her that I was remembering that strange watch of acting when, at the end of dinner, someone, maybe a waiter, maybe a date, locates my coat and puts it behind me, armhole ready – Strange, outrageous contradiction. Trying to get the other arm. I used to hate him. Now, I can imagine breathing on my neck. A touch on my shoulder. The sense of realization that comes with an evening.

We talked about the rituals of getting ready, going out, and then coming home and peeling off the layers: the tender, red lines of our ankles where our underwear was cut into flesh made our bodies aware of it in this way , Which did not feel pleasant, but at least like we were present.

“I want, not badly uncomfortable, but gently uncomfortable,” Ms. Goodhart said. “That would be really cool.”

Sophie McIntosh, a novelist, recalls in this vein, dreaming of peeling tape, a bunch-up spandex or a breast accidentally slashed from a top in public. “Like you’ve made yourself into a glamorous creature through witchcraft, and it can be different, but you don’t feel like joggers in your body very much,” she said.

He recalled a journey home by train from a party in the new thigh-high stockings organized by Silicon. “By the end of my trip they had fallen down, and I had to tuck them leisurely into my shoe-like socks,” she said. “It was embarrassing, but also an opportunity for adventure and wrongdoing with clothes, when now they are very safe.”

Some are confirmed, a message about possibility, in the small dangers and uncertainties that can come with clothing and the way it intersects with social life. Ruined a dress, or tore off a heel, tried to move. Such minor, blissful inconveniences can, in a way, be a way to overcome all kinds of insecurities that we now have in our lives.

“I want sequins, I want painful beauty treatments, I want lamé,” said writer Lauren Collins. Ms. Collins, who lives in Paris, insisted on wearing something delicate, or easily stained. Preciousness can now seem exciting rather than interrupted or time consuming. Such clothes come with memories of visits to dry cleaners, perhaps on the way to work or between appointments. They have meanings of packed schedules and quick dashes, many of us expect independence.

“The other day I had a zoom talk, and I put on an orange taffeta blouse,” Ms. Collins said. “Not that anyone cares at the other end. But I used clothes to demarcate my work day from the endless cycle of cooking and cleaning and child care. I was like: ‘I’m an impenetrable. I’m wearing clothes. I can’t take the dishwasher off right now. ‘I was excited! “

With time France moved its curfew to stem swelling cases from 8pm to 6pm, Ms. Collins found herself buying a pair of silver trousers: cropped, shiny, with a slight kick flare. . “I’ve never worn silver pants around my house before,” she said. “But they somehow help to avoid time. I think that maybe when everything is such a stain, wearing exaggerated clothes is one way to give structure. “

Designers have argued for years, while pedaling sexy or tricky, that one must dress for oneself; Now quarantine has fixed the case. “Why am I trying more?” Ms. Collins asked, noting that she had perfume and makeup every day during the epidemic. “Why am I wearing my silver pants around my lonely apartment?”

If this energy expands when we get out of imprisonment, it will make for great viewing. The streets will be filled with “looks” without any fear or self-consciousness. Would be very enthusiastic.

Of course, the peacock option will also be a novelty. “It’s almost strange being in school when you’re always forced to wear the same thing,” Ms. Goodhart said. “Do you remember the non-uniform day? People will go crazy,”

Yet Rene Hume, who is 91 and a former Glasgow teacher, worries that it may be too late. During the lockdown, he got rid of his evening wear a lot. “When will I wear smart shoes?” He asked. “It’s the same slippers, the same sneakers, every day. Just put on a mask and go home again. “

“When I was a teacher, I talked about wearing something different every day,” Ms. Hume said. “I just thought, the kids have nothing to do, but look at me, so the best thing I can do is make it easy for them.”

He said that she has never been a “lunch lady”. She does not fail to show off. But she misses her rings (“I like huge ones”) and sparkling earrings, which tug at your head ever so slightly, that became a signature with her students.

“They said which pair I would see every day,” she said.

The other day, he opened his jewelry drawer and surveyed all of them, his favorites, and wondered if the time would come again for such choices.

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