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21st April
2011
written by Dame Suzy

It has taken me two years to figure this out. How are the gorgeous, glamorous Italian women of Rome able to gracefully navigate the evil cobblestones that line so many streets of that ancient city without falling or destroying their designer stilettos in the wide deep cracks in between?

When I descend the ramp to the beachside clubs of Port Olimpic in Barcelona, I remember the unfortunate reality of the walkway – it is wooden, so there are gaps between the planks wide enough for my skinny heels to slip through. And it is then that I have an epiphany that translates into my looking like a model on the catwalk. My heel comes down as if it will settle on wood, but it is an illusion. In fact, I never put any weight on the heel. The ball of my foot comes down and takes the weight of my swinging hips. In this way, the movement of my brilliant, shiny dress hugging the curves of my kick-ass body take center stage.

I have joined the ranks of the Italian donnas. I am woman. Hear my roar and watch me walk like a diva. Oh, and don’t touch me.

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