The Flat Foot Curse

I upgraded my wardrobe this Summer. What does this mean? After reading newspaper article after magazine comment piece setting out how women are torpedoing their chances of career progression by wearing the wrong clothes, dismissing them loftily in my head as having nothing to do with my stampingly brilliant performance at work which I felt sure was all you needed to kill it in The Job Interview, I finally caved and jettisoned my ethnic skirts, my drop waist, mad-print mini dresses and my bobbly oversized t shirts, and invested during the Summer sales in rather more adult shift dresses, nicely fitted jacket, and shirts that had buttons that you had to do up rather than pull over your head. It was a lot less painful an experience than you might think. For starters, my new dresses are fire engine red, aching pink, multidimensional purple; the new black Jaeger jacket is a stretch jersey fabric that has already done time in the overhead lockers of budget aeroplanes and still happily kept its shape and its sense of humour; the pencil skirt that actually fits and sits, modestly and yet suggestively, a few millimetres above the knee, is directional, professional looking and yet, well, kind of schoolmarmishly sexy - and in any case I have teamed it so far with a bright blue blazer, a hot pink jacket, and a red coat with yellow piping. Yup. You can take the girl out of the show but you can't take the showgirl out of the woman.  On top of which, I have been stopped no less than three times in the street or on the tube by enthused fellow commuters wanting to know where I got The Dress so here, if you are one of those people who is on the lookout for workers who look like you want to look - it is irrelevant where I got The Dress (Hobbs, Jaeger, occasionally Whistles, maybe Oasis, and very, very rarely, M&S) - what makes people stop and ask me is that before it goes on my body, it pays a visit to The Tailor, a set of brilliant women variously from Poland, Hungary and Iran who work at a dressmaker's near me, who alter all my work clothes so they fit me rather than the hanger they were designed for. Trust me on this. A few critical tucks will transform your outfit. Just look at Kate Middleton (if you must). Think she REALLY just throws on that cheap Oasis flare skirt before her ladies in waiting have attacked it with a pair of scissors and some needle and thread?? Anyway. Clothes were not the problem in transforming and upgrading my Corporate Look. Shoes were.  I have horribly flat feet. The non existent arches cause them to pronate  so shockingly that ever podiatrist I have ever visited has, after recoiling in horror, rubbed their hands together in commercial glee, foreseeing years of high spec orthotics costing me millions, or at the very least, a new medical experiment that would earn them a fellowship at the Royal Society. My feet will not fit into any commercial shoe. I am certain I am not alone in this, and unfortunately, shoes are not things you can take to be altered.  I loathe stilettoes anyway and court shoes are boringly pompous things, but having splashed out on such transforming outfits I can hardly mess them up with my favourite walking boots. So. Covertly, I have procured myself, after extensive online research, shoes from designers that routinely feature in Good Housekeeping.  On receipt I have taken them to the nearest bead shop and flounced them up with my own sticky-on designs. Where did you get those shoes? - enquires a fellow commuter on the Northern line. What do I tell her?  Umm, I sort of made them myself, I mumble. She passes me her card. I have flat feet, she whispers conspiratorially, almost shamefacedly, and I would LOVE shoes like yours. Can you make me some? Oh Lord. Now I've done it.