I think this really gets to the heart of it:

During this time, one of the things that made me feel good was wearing makeup, getting my hair fixed, and –yes– wearing a heeled shoe on the one foot that wasn’t too damaged to wear it. It made me feel beautiful.

I completely agree with your feelings that those things make you feel beautiful—I wear makeup, short skirts and, yes, even high heels for those reasons. Nearly all of us adopt some of those beauty culture talismans because they bring us approval and admiration. I think you’re doing so in a way that’s much more thoughtful and subversive and forces the Patriarchy to acknowledge your attractiveness and sexuality. What concerns me is the way our culture—both with the kiddie heels and the “Sexy Heels in the City” class—just keeps reinforcing the notion that those things are what creates beauty and that people who can’t or don’t wear them are not attractive/unworthy of attention. It’s a vicious circle and to me one of the ways to stop it is to quit glorifying things like heels (and makeup and shaved body parts).

Can I offer an example? I had a significant disability for a good chunk of my life, which resulted in my needing to use a wheelchair for a while, and then later, to walk with a cane. Because this disability was the result of an accident, I saw a change in the way people treated me and the way the world seemed to work, before and after my accident. And one of the things I noticed is that, beyond strangers being grossly infantilizing (I was a bit older than the kids we’re presumably talking about here) and generally treating me like I was not a human being with thoughts, was that people–my family included–stopped treating me like I was beautiful, stopped acting like I might have any desires for anything other than food, and generally behaved as though my body existed solely to be looked after by doctors. Boys looked right through me, and very small children stared at me as though I were some mix between creepy/fascinating/gross. This, as you might imagine, was not particularly fun. It felt bad. And yes, Becky, part of the reason that it felt bad was that I grew up in a culture in which being valued for having a beautiful body is the most important thing. But it also just felt bad because I was a human being with desires, and people were constantly denying that, just because my body didn’t look or work like theirs.

During this time, one of the things that made me feel good was wearing makeup, getting my hair fixed, and –yes– wearing a heeled shoe on the one foot that wasn’t too damaged to wear it. It made me feel beautiful. It made me feel like myself (even though I’d never worn heels before). I’d wager that it DIDN’T sexualize me very much, given that the chair seemed to distract most people. (And speaking of the chair, when you use one, your risks of heel-wearing-related injuries drop to basically nothing. Just something to think about when we’re worrying about how heels prevent girls from running and playing. WHICH girls are we talking about, and to what extent does this kind of thinking presume a fair amount of ableism?) Anyway, the point, again, is that things like heels DO different things for different kinds of people–and not all women or girls are the same kinds of people. And what I’m really, REALLY trying to get across is the idea that what a little thing like wearing heels could (and does!) do for some little girls and boys who have had different life experiences than some of us is crucial to pay attention to. Because for some people, the blanket claim that heels are sexualizing, and thus bad for children to ever have/wear/play with, just isn’t true, and relies upon a SUPER problematic universalizing of ‘our’ own experiences. For girls who are disabled, for kids who are trans or gender non-conforming, being allowed to have your very own pair of heels to wear around your house, or in your chair, is special. It’s an outlet. It’s a very small thing that says “I can be this person that I’m typically just not allowed to be.” That is, to me, significant. And I think the attempt to say, well, we shouldn’t let you have that kind of enjoyment because it’s predicated on the idea that femininity = heels = sexualization is deeply misguided and a bit hurtful.

This is, again, not to say that parents should push their kids to wear heels. And it isn’t to say that girls can’t feel good about themselves, or even pretty, wearing tennis shoes and t-shirts. It IS to say that it’s worth paying attention to the times that doing something else might be ok, and why it is we insist on saying that the way ‘we’ experience something like heels is THE meaning of them for everyone.

That right there is what I find problematic. Children’s bodies can be beautiful — they should not be beautiful, however, in the same way as the bodies of adult women. They should be beautiful in the manner of children. Children != adults. High heels are symbolic in our culture of many things, and one of the biggest is sexual availability. I agree with Becky that it is *never* appropriate for children to be coded as sexually available.

And if what we’re really interested in is safety, well it seems to me that heels made specifically for kids are a lot less likely to result in playtime-related accidents than clomping around in mom’s heels (if those are available). Obviously it would probably not be particularly healthy for little kids to wear heels all the time–just as it isn’t for adults–but it’s not an all-or-nothing choice, and imposing some version of restriction is just part of parenting.

It’s also forcing kids to confront and commit to gender way before it’s appropriate or necessary. Why are we so obsessed with shoving gender and sexuality down these kids’ throats when they have other developmental tasks they need to master? Trans kids will figure it out without these shoes-that’s what dress up boxes are for.

I have some personal experience with this; I grew up with an immediate family member—not going to say who in order to respect her privacy—who was unable to wear “sexy” clothes like heels, bikinis, shorts, etc. because of a congenital medical disorder. Of course, not being able to project “sexy” often made people treat her as though she was invisible—at best. Her experience, which is similar to what Amanda talks about, only serves to reinforce the simple truth that “sexy” is the standard to which women are held, and those of us who don’t meet it are marginalized, despised or ignored.

Now retailers are pushing this “be sexy always!” notion on ever-younger girls. It makes me sick.

Is there an element of privilege/classism at work here? Yes, I’m sure there is given the newspaper I referred to—most discussions of these issues in mainstream media have that slant (especially UK ones). But the stores mentioned in the Independent article are not fancy ones, and the South London college mentioned has a working-class student body, with a large percentage of immigrant and minority students.

Regardless, even if you think that this article or this argument is aimed more at white or middle-class girls, it’s my belief that ALL girls deserve to be protected from early sexualization and negative stereotypes.

@PhDork, I’ll take that dry heave and raise you one lost lunch.