Well heeled and into character

I'm working on a book with a terrific client -- an actress who made it huge on Broadway and transitioned to both silver and small screen -- and part of my research is going to entail a certain degree of fashionista research. I also decided that I needed to wear heels while I work this project. I hit my full height of six feet (I've stopped pretending I'm really only five-foot-twelve) when I was senior in high school, and I've had very little truck with high heels since then. This actress is a petite little dynamo, however, and she does love her Jimmy Choos. I decided I needed to walk the walk in order to talk the talk, so I purchased pair of inexpensive pumps and some four-inch espadrilles at Payless and started wearing them in my office.

I think I may have been visited by the spirit of Nancy Sinatra.

Walking around in heels is a totally different posture, physically and psychologically. There's an enforced sense of sex and carriage and awareness of everything from thrown back shoulders to arched instep. My neck feels longer when I'm wearing heels. My backbone feels swan-like. I breathe differently. Don't laugh, but I swear, my lips got pouty when I stepped into this pair of Naughty Monkeys. I started wearing the shoes hither and yon, and since the do-me pumps looked a little odd with my son's shlubby cast off cargo jeans I've been wearing, I started wearing skirts and -- dare I say it -- summer dresses. I practically had to mop Gary up off the floor.

Lord knows I love my Crocs, but I do believe I could get used to this.