Fashion Article |
Fashion Masochist: Thigh-High Boots
As designers blur the line between footwear and legwear, RACHEL BAKER rises to the occasion.
By Rachel Baker
- Illustration by Liz Noftle.
BLAME IT ON ONE TOO MANY PRETTY WOMAN RERUNS on TBS. Or the widespread popularity of the once-novel bootie. Whatever the reason, designers by the dozen have turned out boots of epic proportions for fall. Stella McCartney and Roberto Cavalli showed versions so high they masqueraded as leggings under dresses on the runway; Gucci and Marc Jacobs, on the other hand, spotlighted the racy pause between high boot and short hemline.
Admittedly, I've often channel-surfed my way into Pretty Woman and consistently found myself infatuated with the pre-makeover shoe choice of call-girl-turned-good-girl Vivian Ward. Plus, what woman doesn't like to think she has at least a little Catwoman in her? This trend is right up my alley—or so I believe—and when the boots I intend to test-drive arrive at my office, I rip open the box with excitement. While the foot part fits easily, zipping my leg into the rest of the boot requires some serious straining, wriggling, and hopping. The result is a burning red face and a realization that only deepens its color: I'm a victim of overflow. My thighs bulge over the edges of the shiny leather. (Most people are familiar with the "muffin top," the midsection bulge caused by tight-waisted jeans; this is similar, but make it a double with longer stalks...twin mushroom tops.)
Traumatized by the sight of my own legs, I briefly consider professional therapy. Then a coworker with a covetable figure tries the boots on—and has the same problem. We agree that people above a size two should probably seek thigh-highs with a slouchier, more generous silhouette. Spirits revived, I immediately run out to buy some.
The new boots are black with a superhigh heel that would make Miss Vivian proud. I zip them up with ease, throw on a short but loose black dress, and teeter over to a fashion event at the MFA. I had been concerned that this refined crowd might think the look a touch too trampy, but the reaction is surprisingly supportive. Even ladies who must have majored in lunching actually walk up to offer praise. And, though it weirds me out to no end, the photographers keep asking that I pose for shot after shot.
However, just as I am filing away a mental note to spend more time on makeup when I wear my new boots, I realize a) how sweaty my legs are and b) there's nothing between them and fresh leather. For the rest of the evening, I'm preoccupied with the idea that my new boots are incubating an entire ecosystem of microscopic creatures. I resolve to wear tights next time.
Still, when I arrive home that night and find myself relishing the sexy 10-second-per-leg unzip (despite the fact there is no appreciative audience), I discover I can't wait to put my thigh-highs on again. That is, after a week or so—this pair's got a date with the cleaners first.
Admittedly, I've often channel-surfed my way into Pretty Woman and consistently found myself infatuated with the pre-makeover shoe choice of call-girl-turned-good-girl Vivian Ward. Plus, what woman doesn't like to think she has at least a little Catwoman in her? This trend is right up my alley—or so I believe—and when the boots I intend to test-drive arrive at my office, I rip open the box with excitement. While the foot part fits easily, zipping my leg into the rest of the boot requires some serious straining, wriggling, and hopping. The result is a burning red face and a realization that only deepens its color: I'm a victim of overflow. My thighs bulge over the edges of the shiny leather. (Most people are familiar with the "muffin top," the midsection bulge caused by tight-waisted jeans; this is similar, but make it a double with longer stalks...twin mushroom tops.)
Traumatized by the sight of my own legs, I briefly consider professional therapy. Then a coworker with a covetable figure tries the boots on—and has the same problem. We agree that people above a size two should probably seek thigh-highs with a slouchier, more generous silhouette. Spirits revived, I immediately run out to buy some.
The new boots are black with a superhigh heel that would make Miss Vivian proud. I zip them up with ease, throw on a short but loose black dress, and teeter over to a fashion event at the MFA. I had been concerned that this refined crowd might think the look a touch too trampy, but the reaction is surprisingly supportive. Even ladies who must have majored in lunching actually walk up to offer praise. And, though it weirds me out to no end, the photographers keep asking that I pose for shot after shot.
However, just as I am filing away a mental note to spend more time on makeup when I wear my new boots, I realize a) how sweaty my legs are and b) there's nothing between them and fresh leather. For the rest of the evening, I'm preoccupied with the idea that my new boots are incubating an entire ecosystem of microscopic creatures. I resolve to wear tights next time.
Still, when I arrive home that night and find myself relishing the sexy 10-second-per-leg unzip (despite the fact there is no appreciative audience), I discover I can't wait to put my thigh-highs on again. That is, after a week or so—this pair's got a date with the cleaners first.
Originally published in Boston magazine, October 2009
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