On the outside, I’m a twenty-something young professional who lives a very pleasant life with her cocker spaniel and her morning coffee.
But on the inside, I’m an ass-kicking BAMF.
My friends will tell you that when I walk down the street, I strut. And it’s pretty much always accompanied by my ipod. See, I don’t believe in just listening to a song – I believe it’s an anthem to whatever mood I’m in. Which also means that as I walk, bopping to the beat, I’m simultaneously picturing myself in a movie scene – usually jumping from building to building or donning a mysterious disguise like Angelina Jolie in Salt.
The reality is that if I ever tried to accomplish anything beyond a walk in some of the shoes I own, I’d break an ankle or two. Not to mention that physical exertion gives me anxiety. Can’t I just have a bangin’ bod in a tight black catsuit and never work out? Oh…yeah…forgot about that whole “see-food” diet thing I’m on (as in I see food and eat it).
I like to think that when I wear shoes made of a combination of leather, metal studs & puncture-worthy stiletto heels, no one will mess with me. Basically, the story goes as follows:
It’s a dark evening, near midnight, and I’m walking home through an alley (which is dumb, but we’ll go with it). Suddenly, I hear footsteps picking up speed behind me. Then two more guys appear from each of my sides and start coming towards me. I start to run towards the opposite end of the alley, but as I near the entrance, three more thugs come at me head-on. They corner me near a collection of garbage cans and I back away until I feel the brick wall against my back. Then, just as they’re about to shank me, I knee one in his nether-region, jump up onto the garbage can (which can obviously support my tiny, perfectly toned frame) like a cat (because I have mad muscles and agility) and proceed to take them out one by one with nothing but a chain I happened to find on the ground and my bare hands. I won’t kill them – I’ll just bust ’em up so they’ll never want to appear in public again.
Then, the big boys in blue will come roaring through the alley to my rescue (which clearly I didn’t need because I’m a boss). One officer (Jake Gyllenhaal, obvi) will sit me on the hood of his car and put a blanket around me shoulders, tending to the minor cut across my hand.
We’ll fall in love and live happily ever after, kicking ass and taking names.
See? Badass booties are totally worth it – even if you can’t really walk in them. All part of the experience!
I highly suggest you invest in a pair (or six) – they’re the perfect addition to a great pair of skinny jeans, tights, or bare legs (pending weather, of course). It’s also preferred that you wear clothes, though I do understand the appeal of the birthday suit. Perhaps save that for your dominatrix days.
So go out and get some! Run! Shop! Do it! Spend money! (God, I’m like the poster child for another recession.) Leather/suede/whatever – it all screams “I’m hawt.” And that’s always a good thing to scream (that’s what she said?).
‘Till next time, biddies.
(Steve Madden – TJ Maxx)
(Steve Madden – consignment shop)
(shop in Montpellier, France)
(BCBG – Marshall’s)
Oh my God! They’re so cute! Nevermind that I look like a newborn giraffe every time I try to take a step.
- 5 Transitional Booties to Step Seamlessly Into Fall (fabsugar.com)
- Monday Wedgie: How Now, Wedge Bootie? (brokeandbeautiful.com)
- Booties. (sarahgolez.wordpress.com)
- Ankle Booties (sheadylady.com)
- Editor’s Pick: Hayley’s Gap Ankle Booties (fashionista.com)
- So who’s more badass? He who fights with lightsabers, or he who is brave enough to fight without? (imgur.com)