The world is flat

In life there are no accidents.

The first shoe I bought was a Bally penny loafer. It was black, sturdy and I bought it 60 percent off on sale during my first trip to Paris. I slipped two pennies in each slot and thought that I had just become the belweather of fashion.

A penny loafer for an 11-year-old was certainly a curious choice. As early as then, I always knew I was never going to be a sneaker kind of girl. Since it was on sale, I just had to have it. My mother taught me that everything on sale is considered a wise investment. It was half an inch smaller than my ducky feet. The sturdy factor of this shoe proved to be its downside for my particular case. I imagined this was how lotus foot binding felt. Needless to say, my first trip to Paris is painfully remembered for its blisters and peeling bandages.

Then Catholic school came where we only had agency in our choice of footwear. I came in with Bass loafers (yes, I know, but I was also obsessed with Carolyn Bessette who wore them daily while she shied away from the paparazzi. I doubt they were Bass though). I immediately upgraded (or downgraded depending on how you see it) to Doc Martens. I was obsessed and I swear I had 12 pairs. I never knew how to wear them well. It was always a little awkward. It didn’t matter, high school is all about being awkward. I remember a triumph when I was able to wear deep navy Docs to school. Rebel, rebel. They passed for black but all my classmates knew I was wearing a pair of eight-hole navy blue Doc Martens. It was the only time I would feel I was on the cutting edge.

Even my dog Milo loves flats!

College was all about Tod’s. I didn’t drive and I didn’t have a Loro Piana wrap to complete the look. I bought them with my savings and decided that I would choose off-colors like yellow and orange — they being more chic and giving the suggestion that I already had the basic black and brown collecting dust in my ever-impressive preppy shoe collection (which I did not). I was already a sham wearing Tod’s, I might as well be pretentious about it. Also these colors were always on sale.

Then came New York, and with skyscrapers came the high heels. I had been experimenting with high-heeled shoes from CMG in Manila. They were adorable, but they just were not for me. The first Manolo Blahnik I bought was a stiletto covered in dalmatian spotted fur. It was ruined during a fashion shoot I was producing for Preview and I had to pay for it. It was quirky, it was elegant and for heaven’s sake it was the first season of Sex and the City. So it didn’t hurt to have it and the owners of Wish (God, I miss that store) gave me an angelic discount.

After a few tries with other vertiginous Manolos, I realized they were too precious for me. All the satin and teeny triangular tips just looked off. They seemed a little too charity fundraiser, a little too Lady Di. Then I discovered Louboutins and then my life was over. It was 1999 and I was five inches closer to heaven. Just how I transitioned from Bally to Bass to Docs to Tod’s to Louboutins, you can say I’m wildly predictable.

I have always been clumsy on heels. However, my derring-do was not to be ignored and I wore them with much shamelessness and an ardent ignorance to ominous disgrace. I stumbled and danced like a circus act on stilts.

Hem scraper: Mixing Dior and Aldo during the Tatler Ball with Paul Ostergaard. The hair is the only thing that needs fixing here.

Then it happened.

On Feb. 14, 2011 I was walking down Queens Road in the Central district of Hong Kong. There in front of H&M my foot hit an uneven crevice on the sidewalk and just like that my foot broke. Not a dainty fracture but a full-on break. A clean break. It was almost like a freak accident. How does somebody break their foot walking? It really had to happen to me. Ah, but there was another element. If one has to learn something from the latest episode of Glee season 3, it’s that one should never multi-task while texting. Look at what happened to Quinn, my TV soulmate, as the constant bearer of bad luck. I was texting while walking and, boom. Let this be a cautionary tale for those women who were born to wear heels.

I was in a cast for four weeks, an air boot for another three weeks until I said eff it. My wedding had been called off, I had a broken foot (which I must say is a scarf length away from an isolation ward in a white collar prison) and a gorgeous Madame Gres wedding dress collecting dust in my closet, I was done with all this sorrow. I kicked off the air boot, which reminded me of a Margiela gone wrong without irony.

Then I wore Crocs.

It was the safest footwear to walk around in following the wake of the banished air boot. The Crocs people had enough kindness in their hearts to create a sensible looking flat shoe. It was actually quite nice. I bought the nude flats just so they would, you know, disappear. I wore them with everything, even with my chiffon cocktail dresses from Rhett and Dennis. After a few weeks, my foot stopped feeling like a suspension bridge. Finally, it was a small step for man and one giant leap from Crocs. 

I exhumed my ever-faithful Chanel flats and Tory Burch Revas (don’t judge me, I really love them). They were the silent warriors when I ran from fashion shoots to closing pages at the Star. These babies last forever. I definitely favored my heels, like a mother would favor her beautiful but dim child. It was time for the middle child of footwear to shine! Think of those two sisters in Modern Family.

I had all my gowns, dresses and jeans shortened to adapt to the new me that was now closer to the equator than heaven. I loved the ease of walking around with shoes you didn’t have to think about. Then began my love affair with leggings. With a cardigan and a tank to finish it off, I have never looked more like myself.

Handicapped during a YStyle event

A great challenge for the flat inclined were black tie balls and weddings. WTF. Well, with some savvy and bejeweled thongs from Guiseppe Zanotti and yes, Aldo did the job, too. Even Louboutin came up with flats. Suddenly with my newly-opened eyes, the world of flats never seemed so colorful. It seemed like everyone broke their feet and had gone to heaven. All the Diors, Rhetts and Stella McCartneys (with shortened hems, of course) came to life. I felt so cool and so contrarian wearing them with these celebrated frocks. Although I dance like I’m having a seizure, I am now a mainstay on the dance floor because my feet never hurt!

There’s a quiet confidence in wearing flats, it adds instant elegance and coolness to anything you wear. Like you just don’t care and that everyone else should. Audrey Hepburn danced around wearing them, European royals are seen in their casual wear wearing nothing but them. When I see that coma-inducing Herve Leger bandage dress (and its wannabe ilk) worn with hooker heels, I know that God has done me a favor.

Foot doctors hate heels. Your pedicurist hates heels. Your wooden parquet floor hates your heels. There’s nothing wrong with being a high heel girl. But let’s not pity the cripple in flats. It may not be the standard for that franchised form of glamour. Just look at it as the shoe that could.