Tom Ford Stole My Training Wheels by A.H. Scott

Tom Ford Stole My Training Wheels

by

A.H. Scott





Sensible mules, sandals and flats had always been my uniform in the feminine army. For me, the highest heel I'd ever been bold enough to wear was a pair of black pumps with two inch heels.


("In order to keep anything cultural, logical, or ideological, you have to reinvent the reality of it." - Ani DiFranco)


But, then came Tom.



Every time I wear a pair of high heels, the feel of wiggling hips begins. Then as I walk, the jiggle of my own personal suspension system. Whoa! To think a complex pair of shoes can be a workout all in themselves.


Planting my feet into Tom's stilettos with those heels dipped in gold, is like tossing away the training wheels off a Schwinn bike.



Ladies, if you can remember your first Schwinn bike. You know, the one with the pink and blue streamers that kissed the wind when a cool breeze blew past you along a lazy street. The faster you could pedal, the more those pink and blue streamers would weave in an out of one another.



Well, as you grow up, items that may seem the most reassuring and comfortable, suddenly isn't the most preferred.


("Creativity takes courage." - Henri Matisse)


And, that's how Tom Ford stole my training wheels.


Tom Ford's design was like a Lance Armstrong Mountain Bike that was prepared for victory in the Tour de France.



The first time I saw one of his high heeled creations was in the window of a fancy store on 5th Avenue. I couldn't believe how any woman could possibly be able to measure up to this designer's vision.


Or, how any woman could ever be able to walk in shoes with those nosebleed heels.


("Rule of art: Cant kills creativity!" - Camille Paglia)


There was nothing safe about these shoes. They were bold and without a net. And, now I would be without the net of training wheels to secure me from falling flat on my face from their height.



Almost looking like golden swords ready for a battle against boredom and conformity, those heels tempted me to purchase a pair.


When I did, my life changed.


I felt the true passage of womanhood when I took those shoes out of their box and laid them at my own feet.



("Creativity is piercing the mundane to find the marvelous." - Bill Moyers)


I'm surprised Tom Ford and the people at Gucci didn't sell a tiny ladder to accompany those stilettos to every woman that bought a pair.



Whoops! I stood in those shoes and was a bit wobbly on my feet. I'd never known the height that I gained with such footwear.



Oh, I need my training wheels put back onto my feet. Maybe, a simple sandal or even a pair of Keds would be more appropriate for me. Yet, I was a woman in the shoes of a femme of fiery flourish, so I proceeded on the journey to jiggling a bit more.



At first, I had a bit of a problem walking in them. But, as I learned over a few hours, a bit of training my own body to handle something so seductively straining to my limbs; the results paid off wonderfully.


Those stilettos raised my entire body upward to another enticing level. That lift gave my calves, thighs and hips a certain sway to them. As for my buns, they kind of had this bouncy effect with every step forward. Well, as for my breasts, they floated a bit too, as I sauntered in my new shoes.



For the first time when I wore those shoes outside of my apartment, it was like partaking in a safari. And, I didn't know if I were the prey or the hunter.


Even a good girl (like me), felt the power of those shoes.


Oh, Tom Ford, how dangerous you make a woman feel.


Taking step after step in my stilettos, those spiked heels jabbed a stake through the heart of feminine timidity.



They gave me a sense of danger. Not for myself. But, I will admit I felt a little like an adventuress going in for the domination of the king of the jungle. Or, maybe just a self-described Casanova.



Men looked at me differently. Almost with a hint of trepidation when I entered a room.


And, to think a pair of shoes, no matter how towering the design, made a world of difference in the dynamics between me and the opposite sex.



Never worn during hours of business, my stilettos are pulled out for special occassions. Even after many years of owning those shoes, it still thrills me for the reactions I get when I wear them.



And, ironically, it's from both sexes. The men are basically turned on. But, the women usually give me a nod of allegience from their own experiences in Tom's creations.


Feels great for a woman in her early 40's to still know I can turn heads. And, I have Tom Ford to thank for that.



Rubbing red lipstick onto pouty lips is an easy part of the dance of decadence that we all do. A little blush and a flick of mascara is also a part of the painting of acceptance that we use to get a man's attention.



But, nothing will ever take hold of his senses like the first time he sees you in a pair of stilettos. It's primal. And, that's the fun of being a woman. Both you and the man know the game has been kicked up a hell of a lot of notches.



On or off during sex, those stilettos are the glistening wand of wonderment that will leave him breathless with every thrust he brings forth.



Visionaries are sometimes not given enough praise during their lifetime. But, Tom Ford and the house of Gucci definitely transformed the stiletto from just sexy footwear into a wearable piece of art that would make any old master of watercolors blush.



("And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." -
Sylvia Plath)



I stand here in my stilettos and give a deep bow of gratitude to an artist of supreme boldness, Tom Ford.



Schwinn of simplicity has been revolutionized with a Lance Armstrong Mountain bike. And, my need for training (or wheels) has long gone away.




With that, the streamers are an adolescent memory and the golden heels that glisten on my stilettos are part of my feminine arsenal.


(“I believe that one defines oneself by reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. To cut yourself out of stone.” - Henry Rollins)


So, to all women of the world, now it's your turn to glisten beneath the glow of maturity.



Ladies, pull on that tube top from days gone by, even if you've got a little bulge of fat between your upper arms and breasts.



And, zip up that black leather mini-skirt, no matter how tight it may be. Just hold your breath for a brief second and zip it up all the way up.


Last, but not least, ascend to arousal's peak, as you climb into a pair of Tom Ford stilettos.




Being a woman isn't about being a mouse. It's about being a tigress in complete control of her own destiny.



END? Oh, no. This is only the beginning....

- A.H. Scott
October 2011