The endless nights of dancing with at wedding receptions, going out on ladies' night and even a night out on the town with my man... never end without blisters, sore feet and a desperate urge to walk barefoot on the sidewalks - which I know, is really not a good idea! As a dancer, my feet are very important to me so when I saw Damn Heels on Dragon's Den last month, knowing that I have 3 more weddings to attend soon, needless to say, these will really save my feet! Heels are fabulous, but damn them indeed when they make your feet hurt! This is a great idea, and next month I'm all over this product! I've already talked about it to many friends and all of them are very excited about Damn Heels! Keep up the great work!
I'm a professional fundraiser, and going to the fancy galas and cocktail parties is part of the job. That's one cold, hard terrazzo floor in the lobby of Canada's National Arts Centre, and I have hobbled across it after the party in my bare feet more times than I care to remember. Damn Heels, where have you been all my life?
Damn heels! There's a reason I am rarely ever seen with them. I hate being the girl wearing sexy shoes and having to endure them and then complain about them all night. Who said that beauty is pain? If I had a pair of Damn Heels flats, then perhaps I'd be a taller girl on most nights out.
I don't wear heels out in public...I mean at all...but God some of the stories I have heard about girls walking on the streets of Toronto bare footed makes me sick...these things are going to save lives!
So, I’m walking downtown Kingston in my (beloved) damn heels, strutting my stuff, when the heel of my beautiful stiletto happens to come in direct contact with the gap in the sidewalk. It becomes fully stuck, I fly forward, and the shoe stays behind. Upon wrestling with the pavement to remove my heel, an older man walks by and remarks I don’t know how you do it. Laughing, I reply obviously, not very well! haha if only I had worn a pair of Damn Heels flats, this entire situation would have been avoided. But then again, where would the fun be?
I never wear Heels. Of course, I’m a man. But one day I said fuck it, let see what all the fuzz is about. Have to admit I felt uncomfortably powerful when I first put them on. Before I knew, the pain showed up and then came the seven shots to try to forget it. What I remember is falling face-flat on the dance floor after spilling another guy’s drink, into another girl’s dress. All eyes on me, and I started crying like the time my mom discovered I had adult magazines, while I was admiring them. I’ve never worn heels. Of course, I’m a man. Only about 63% of these events actually happened to a woman I was dating. One thing I’m certain, is that I wish she owned a pair of Damn Heels. She was particularly annoying that night.
November 5 2009. Thursday. 11:58pm... after heavy predrinking at a friend's (5th fl walkup) apartment, it came time to roll out. I had had a little too much to drink, but it was time to conquer the stairs. I missed the first step and tumbled to the 4th fl, busting the heel clean off one of my 5 inch Lanvins. Regrettably, I was past the point of caring. I threw the severed shoe into my purse and hit the grimy New York dive bars for the next 4 hours with one heel, and one bare foot. Replacing the heel cost $200…as for my lost dignity and the podiatric syphilis growing between my toes? Priceless. Where were my damn heels when I needed them?
After a wonderful night of birthday karaokeing, a friend and I decided it was time to call it a 'night' seeing as we had to work in a few hours. We left the rest of the group and decided to start the journey home. On foot. Myself in heels. Not even a third into our journey home, I had to remove by beloved heels as the pain could not be tolerated. Now may I point out that the location was probably not the most desirable for bare feet - Jarvis and Queen. I don't even want to know what I was walking in/on - the thought alone scares me. I would have given anything at that point to have a pair of comfy flats to rescue my wounded soles...
I can count the number of times I've worn heels in the past five years on one hand. So, in order to surprise everyone at my grad ball last May, I decided to go with a killer pair of red stilettos as my footwear. By the end of the night, after much precarious wobbling around the alcohol-slicked dance floor, I removed those damn heels and felt like I was actually learning to walk again for the first time. Halfway through my walk home barefoot in the pouring rain, I really wished I had a pair of flats on me...
Mine is a little different. A damn heels/damn height combo. It is not too often that I wear heels out. I have a bit of a height complex and don't like to tower over people. However, on this particular night a certain pair of heels were calling out, "wear me!!". Of course I couldn't resist. I got through almost the whole night with minimal pain and even started to feel less self conscious of my height until... some damn little man walked up to me, looked at my feet and then slowly brought his eyes upward from my feet, over my body and stopped when he got to my head. In my drunken, now confident state I was ready for a "hot damn", but instead got smacked in the face with "how tall ARE you?!?!?". You better believe those heels haven't seen the light of night since.
Staying over at a friend's place after a night of partying and having to wear your DAMN HEELS the following day at work! Not so classy especially when it's fashion week and you're expected to run around in style with a smile :) There's a limit to the amount of band-aids people are willing to give you... embarrassing.
A girlfriend and I were backpacking in the summer of 07. We started off in London and went to this amazing salsa club. After the most intense dancing of our lives, our feet were dying (and our heels weren't even high). We hopped on the wrong bus to get us home for the night and ended up walking the streets of London barefoot for an hour. And there you have it - how damn heels came to be.
Where: Club, South Florida. Issue: dancing on the top ledge of a couch. I jumped off the ledge, and fell. I sat there, cross-legged on the dance floor for about 10 minutes. Eventually I made my way to the washroom (barefoot) where I handed my heels to the attendant, and fell asleep in a stall. My friends came looking for me and when they found me they asked "where are your heels” I'm looking everywhere for my beloveds because I had forgotten I gave them to the attendant, who finally realizes they are Maddens, not Manolos, and gives them back to me. We left and I walked all the way to the beach, and then home, barefoot. When I woke up in the morning, I had twisted my ankle so badly I couldn't walk for 3 days.
I went to Montreal one summer with my girlfriends. Upon learning that last call in clubs was 3am, dancing bare feet on sticky garbage infested dance floors was not an option. However, it happened. We even attempted wearing each other's heels to try to stop the pain. Ladies, no matter how hard you try, a size 6 heel just does not fit on a size 8 foot. We gave up and just walked the downtown streets of Montreal barefoot. Back at the hotel, we soaked our feet which were so dirty that the water in the bathtub was black!
I lived in Paris for a year and got sucked into the fashion. That means the countless nights out in heels, walking around on cobblestones. I can't even recall the number of times I ended up barefoot at the end of the night/wee hours of the morning. Let's just say I got stared at a lot walking around with no shoes on my feet. I still don't know how those French women do it. Someone needs to give them a medal
