Ah, thigh-high boots. The bolder-than-bold style, reminiscent of the iconic Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Doesn’t every girl dream of emulating Vivian Ward in that scene where she arrives back at the store where she was snubbed, this time with wads of cash from her beau/employer/soon-to-be-boyfriend Richard Gere and the sales assistants wait on her hand and foot? Wait a minute. Consider that statement. Why was it ok to have a prostitute who is rescued by a rich man as a role model in the 90s? The psychological landscape of being a feminist has certainly changed a lot since Pretty Woman. The dangerous territory of wearing thigh-high boots, however, has not.
This year, rather than making some predictably dull and breakable new year’s resolutions, I have decided to spend more money (credit) going to cultural events (because they make me happy) rack up some serious debt (it’s inevitable with the gig/theatre-going), drink more coffee (it’s just so social, damn it and one cup is not getting me anywhere on the friends circle) and eat only gluten (ok, I’m blatently lying on this one). So, the logical next step is to start dressing like an escort, right? Wrong! Thigh-high boots, I challenge you, can actually look classy! These Altuzarra for Target ones are probably the most uncomfortable things I have ever worn, they gave me two weeks worth of stigmata-like wounds on my feet when I danced with wild abandon in Flannery’s, looking like Sweet Dee in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia when she was channeling the inflatable tube man but hell, they look gorgeous! Don’t judge me, it was my first (and last) time in the notorious Flann-a-box.
There’s nothing like a leather skirt to make a lady feel sexy and this skirt from The Kooples is definitely one of my favourite pieces. However, should you find yourself surrounded by anyone with a sense of mischief, perhaps consider it unwise to wear a skirt that zips all the way down with thigh-high boots. You may find yourself scandalously de-robed and you could be in a place of high-art such as IMMA, like I was here. I wouldn’t know anything about that sort of thing though, my photographer Steven Paul Richardson AKA Prince Ken Swift is a man of high honour and integrity and has a very nice set of thighs himself. Let’s just say he models himself on Arnold. Shwarzenegger, not the cartoon with the football-shaped head, who I’m sure has a grand aul set of functional thighs too, fair play to him.
As I write this post, I am reminded of a brutal war-time period in my life when I taught feminist poetry to a group of transition year boys. Here is an excerpt from the poem Barbie Doll by Marge Piercy.
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
The protagonist of the poem ‘cut off her nose and her legs and offered them up‘ and the final stanza features the girl in a casket at her funeral. Consider but this. 8:40 a.m. 16 year old sporty boys, exhausted from a night of playing Grand Theft Auto 5. Ordinary Level English. Transition Year. No concept of narrative voice. Confusion over fiction vs biography. Mild level of farce. ‘Nuff said.
The irony of Piercy’s poem didn’t escape me. By the end of this shoot, I’d taken off the coat and the tights and was embracing my thighs, naked in all their white, pasty and freezing glory! They help to hold my legs up and enable me to walk. Sure, they’re magnificent!
SHOP MY LOOK:
Skirt: The Kooples, Brown Thomas.
Boots: Altuzarra for Target.