My clothes felt wrong, like bad disguises-femme clothes that felt too femme, masc clothes that were featureless and ill-fitting. And then it was my shoes. I like being taller, so I'd worn heels; when I started transitioning, I switched to sneakers. Now, I felt stuck between two bad options: I resented the flat-shoes-only thing, which I was forcing myself to do out of a sense of obligation to dress masc, but the idea of sexy Camper heels sounded worse. While researching an amorphous category I started to call "masc heels"-clogs, cowboy boots, Nike Shox, Rick Owens knockoffs-I made an offer on eBay of $62 for a pair of black orthopedic sandals with a spring-loaded heel, which the seller accepted.
DAY 1: THE Z-COILS ARRIVE. TO call Z-Coils ugly is already to make an ontological error; the shoes exist somewhere outside our prosaic spectrum of aesthetic pleasure. The upper has two sections a rigid orthotic for the heel and a foam-soled front-with thick leather straps that Velcro your foot in place. The coil is a chubby black spring that terminates in a flat, squarish pad with the proportions of an elephant's foot. The cushy footbed cradles my foot into a gently angled posture, more like a running shoe than a heel.
This story is from the September 25 - October 08, 2023 edition of New York magazine.
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This story is from the September 25 - October 08, 2023 edition of New York magazine.
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