I know this month’s topic is on femme community—I’m working on that one right now, but I heard the best story this weekend about a femme out in California and I had to share.
Someplace in California, there is a 6 ft 3 femme walking around in stilettos, prepared to kill.
Let me back up.
I was out shoe shopping for a wedding this weekend and I had dragged two of my friends with me. They do not care much for shoes, even less for heels, so their enthusiasm for a difficult project (finding silver heels not made for a 14-year-old mess going to Jr. prom) was waning. It got to the point that they were prancing through the store pretending to wear those ridiculous ‘shape up’s and commenting on their lack of firmed buttocks and suggesting that, as I was in heels at the time, there was nothing I could do to make them stop because they could run faster than me.
Not so, dear boys. I can run as fast in 3.5 inch heels as you can in sneakers (at least when I have to—who really wants to run?). I told them this, and later proved it to them when they kept bringing faux-snake-skin loafers in unnatural colors over for me to try on when I was involved in the real mission of the day.
When we were walking out of the store (4 inch silver peep-toe sling-backs in hand, thank you very much) one of them told me the story of a friend who was also always in big heels. He was concerned for her safety on more than one occasion, and finally one day asked her why she didn’t think about investing in some more ‘sensible’ shoes so she could run if she was ever harassed. He didn’t say this, but I get the feeling that the 6’3” femme fatal had probably had several scrapes before he was compelled to say something as silly as recommending sneakers to a heel-committed femme.
Anyway, he made the suggestion and got the best response I’ve ever heard. Apparently this femme, after assuring him that she could not only run in heels and fight in heels, told him she wasn’t really that worried about running anyway.
‘If anyone messes with me, I can always do this,’ she said. Removing one of her stilettos, she glanced around, found a wooden post a good 8 or 10 feet away, and, barely taking aim, she hurled her heel at it. Not only did she hit the post she aimed for, she had put the perfect spin on her sling-back defense mechanism, and it was stuck there, heel-in, right in the middle of the post.
That was the end of my friend’s story, but I can picture the part of it he didn’t say: the aftermath of this femme demonstration of ingenuity and strength. Him standing there, mouth hanging open, while she sauntered over to reclaim her stiletto from the heart of that poor post, the words “let them try me” written all over her walk, the tough and maybe vaguely-nostalgic smile creeping on the corners of her mouth. As a heel-wearing femme myself, I appreciate the lengths someone would have to push her before she’d relinquish a heel, even in self-defense. But even more than that, I appreciate a femme that won’t be compromised by what other people view as a ‘safe’ choice for her fashion.
And, of course, I’ve found an old heel that doesn’t fit me so well anymore and set it up with a post in the backyard of my head, ready to practice my own slinging talents at night, or after a particularly bad day out in the world. I figure part of being femme is learning each other’s tricks and keeping ourselves safer and more fabulous on the inventiveness of our fellow femmes.
So here’s to the femme whose name I don’t know and face I’ve never seen, who’s inspired me to new heights of heels and self-defense. Someday, let me make wooden posts (and potential femme destroyers) cringe as much when I sway past in a pair of bad-ass heels.

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