CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: PUTTING BEST FOOT FORWARD NOT ALWAYS EASY

"Clothes make the man." Shakespeare said it first, and a few centuries later, "Dressing for Success" hit bookstores.

We are a nation obsessed with image. We have fashion magazines, self-help books and consultants by the score, all dedicated to making sure that if a hair's out of place, it's an artistic statement achieved through judicious use of styling product.

Men have "power ties." Women wear "power jackets." Women used to wear blouses with floppy bow-ties and dirndls to prove we could be taken seriously. It has been pounded into both genders' collective consciousness that not only what we wear, but how we wear it, speaks volumes about who we are.

So does somebody want to explain what black patent leather Mary Janes with chunky three-inch heels say about the woman who wears them?

I admit, I used to wear Mary Janes all the time. But I rebelled when I turned seven, rejecting both patent leather and those pouf-sleeved little velvet dresses with lace collars. And I've never looked back.

Until now.

I've never really thought much about shoes, except for memorizing short lists of stores stocking inexpensive, unremarkable plain black (or navy or brown) pumps with low heels.

Then one day I ventured out of the "frumpy, but employable" section of my favorite large department store and took a long hard look at the aisles and aisles of really weird shoes being marketed for the average American woman.

Combat boots with platform soles. Combat boots with heels. Stack-heeled loafers, circa 1976. High-top sneakers with platform soles. The afore-mentioned Mary Janes on heels. Granny boots with lug soles. Mary Janes with lug soles.

The last time I got that nervous, I was shopping for a car, not loafers.

Somebody must be buying these shoes, and I'm one of those somebodies. In a moment of weakness, I acquired a pair of what I can only describe as lug-soled bowling shoes: multi-colored lace-up oxfords on inch-thick black lug soles. I've only worn them once. The neon sign flashing "Look at the size of my feet!" was too distracting. And I don't bowl.

All across the country, I imagine, women are doing the same thing: buying big shoes, wearing them once and hiding them away forever. We're too embarrassed to take them back.

Footwear is a visceral issue, for many women. It's all about sole. There's a long, complicated equation which proves that perfectly normal shoes slapped on big, clunky bases will make your feet look at least double their normal size.

That's every woman's goal.

In the midst of all this, of course, classically tailored clothing, twin sets and long, sweeping flowery skirts are coming back. Naturally. And I can't help but wonder if it's entirely a coincidence that push-up bras and big shoes are hot at the same time.

There's a theory that a woman's role can be traced by looking at the fashions of the times, and there are probably arguments that can be made to support that theory.

In centuries past, when women were supposed to be fragile, helpless little things, long skirts and petticoats and pounds of undergarments certainly added to their helplessness. It's hard to run away, or even walk freely, in a hobble skirt.

So now women are wearing pants, and even menswear. What message do these structurally-enhanced shoes send? We're not afraid to be less than "feminine?" We can stand on our own two feet, and not only that, we can't be knocked off of them?

Walk a mile in our shoes. I dare you.

~Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.