Sweatpants and high heels.  My dream outfit.  I adore heels.  Even when my feet are blistering, I’m whining mercilessly, and I don’t.think.I.can.go.on.another.step., I will survive, heels and all.  If the heels didn’t scratch my husband’s legs, and halfway through the night, puncture a shoulder (I’m a tosser-and-turner … I think I “sleep swim”), I’d sleep with my prettiest heels on.  But clothes, yuck.  At the end of a work day, I can’t get through the door fast enough before I’m stripping off dress, tights, jewelry, and bra.  I live for my sweat pants.  I can’t even start to relax before I’ve put them on.  Sweats are my superhero costume. I blog better, I cook better, I think better, in my sweats.  No one’s given me the option, but I think I’d be a better lawyer in sweatpants.  High heels would be an added bonus.  (And a potential cooking hazard.)

Image via Fash ‘n Chips

Today, I’m bringing you part two in the Intel summer series spotting my favorite fashion trends and street style, from a blogger’s eye-view (a.k.a., I want everything.)

So here they are: the stand-out shoes that are making my heart go pitter-patter.  The shoes that would look so pretty in my closet, on my feet, piled on top of the dining room table (because we’re drastically running out of space in the double closet I stole from my husband …)

And do note: none of these shoes are practical, at all.  And that’s how I like it.  I wear dainty flats, sweet sandals, boots I could walk miles in, but at the end of the day, I’m a heel girl at heart.  The more impractical the shoe, the more i love it.

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Why is it women need the power suit to feel more power-ful?

And why does it take high heels to feel present and in control?

I swear to you, it’s true.  The higher my heels, the more of a badass I can pretend to be at work.  I wouldn’t walk through the courthouse doors without my big girl heels on.  I know part of it is a height thing.

I’m a lawyer – the kind that goes to court, and I’m a woman, which makes me a minority.  Men look so dapper in suits; so put together.  I’m busy yanking up my panty house, pulling my skirt down (which is inching it’s way up, trying desperately to make a break for my hips) and doing the hip wiggle (you know the one), my shoulder pads are halfway down my back, I’m balancing laptop, files, and my heavier-than-usual (if that’s possible) purse, and then there are the heels – there’s little room for composure.  So I play NERD’s “Outlaw” in my head on repeat, click my heels together, and chew gum like I have explosives in my blouse.

And if you walk with the tough girl swagger, you’re viewed as a beyatch* (that’s French for uptight priss).  Where’s the justice?  I object.  But I won’t leave home without my heels.

{image a la high heels and hangovers}