Shoes contain much of our freedom, taking us places we do and don't want to go. When I was three or four years old my mother put her old clothes in my closet and I was allowed to play dress-up with them. One day I felt sufficiently transformed in her shoes to test a few boundaries so when my father came into my room I slapped him on his thigh. Maybe I felt my private fantasies were being invaded but of course I was acting completely inappropriately so there were - shall we say - repercussions. I was shocked (I’m sure we both were). I stood in front of the long closet mirror crying, enraged that high heels did not an independent lady make.