Ouch - Oh, You Know What I Mean!

Rough week. That last prolo session took a bit longer to recover from, mainly because we covered more ground, er, body surface area, I mean, that we did in prior sessions. So mostly I've been feeling totally arthritic - stiff back, knees, feet, shoulders, blah, blah, blah. If I'm sitting for as little as ten minutes, I creak when I stand up. Not too promising, ya dig? But I shouldn't really complain (well, maybe just a little) because I'm still working, still thinking, still doing my best to avoid all the hoo-haa in the nasty-political-shenanigans arena. Wake me when its over, please?

I met a young woman recently, who asked I not use her name, whose club foot has caused her great anxiety over both her mobility/activity levels, and her fashion-quotient. Athletic shoes do not make it at the clubs these days, apparently. (How did it come to this, where I hear words like "the young folk," and "what the kids like these days" coming out of my own mouth?  Sheesh. Completely over the hill, I am.) The gals like them shoes, 'cuz they know the boyz gonna dig 'em. And honestly? I have no answer for this particular dilemma. When I was still making shoes, I lost count of the number of women who would say something along the lines of, "I simply cannot wear anything with less than a three-inch heel."!!! And when I'd point out it was those three-inch heels (not to mention the 4, 5, and 6 inch variety) was more than likely the cause of their current uglified feet - all gnarly and arthritic, and pre-shaped for the pointy toes, well, they'd spit their snake venom in my eye and shout, "Just make the damn shoes and stop telling me what I want."!!

Now, they did have a point - it wasn't my place to tell them what they wanted. But, it was my place to tell them what they were likely to get, being that it was in fact their spiky pumps that made comfort highly unlikely. Women most often buy shoes for the imagined sexy punch it will give them over the competition. So much so, in fact, they seem willing to bear almost any pain or discomfort in service of that imaginary happiness. There's even a name for this "condition," - Algolagnia: sexual pleasure from pain. Note that this is different (albeit perhaps only in degree) from masochism, which is defined as the recurrent urge or behavior of wanting to be humiliated, beaten, bound, or otherwise made to suffer. So we can note the "bound," and the "made to suffer" as being the primary parts of algolagnia, with the added notion of sexual pleasure. Now, it might seem silly to make such a point of this - after all, how could something that brings pain (high heels, pinched toes) also bring pleasure? Well, if you are in fact a masochist, its a no-brainer. But for most women, the pleasure is not direct sexual pleasure, per se, but indirect, as the sight of those delicious little black pumps bring the requisite associations to mind, and thus, to the cash register.

So, let me explain the physics involved. Essentially, its plain old Archimidean plane physics - the incline plane, to be exact. If you stand on a hill, you will eventually slide downhill. Placing the foot in this kind of relationship to the ground requires the means to hold the foot in the most stable position on that "hill," which means narrow, pointed toes, to hold the foot back, and keep the heel of the foot within the shoe. The higher the heel, the tighter the toes - you really can't have it any other way, at least for the pump. Now, add laces, and you can make the toes wider, but laces are, well, let's be frank about it (unless you name is Joe) - laces are patently NOT sexy.

But for us clubbies, we either come to terms with not being sexy, or redefine what that actually means, and how we want to express that part of our very human nature. Because, like I told this young woman, you want to run the marathon of your life - that is, keep active for the course of your natural years allotted - you better stay away from steep hills. Lots of "sensible shoes" out there now look pretty damn hot, ya ask me! She just needs to quit worrying about emulating the Brittany crowd, and shoot for the Burning Man milieu.

Better tattoos, anyway.