Sunday, March 7, 2010

Bars should not be anti-heel

There are some places on this earth you just shouldn't wear heels to. Hiking, ball games, picnics, the park. As much as I hate to admit it, there are places where they just don't make any damn sense, and generally I have something to accommodate the situation while still being fashionable.

Bars should not be one of those places, but low and behold, I have found the anti-heels bar- 115 Bourbon Street.

Now before judging me, let me just tell you it's not a place I frequent. It's far from my home, and generally sucks, but my fiance's neighborhood reunion was being hosted there, and so we attended, both dressed as if it's a regular Saturday night, which inevitably includes heels. That evening's choice being Aldo Mary Jane patent leather and suede stilettos.

So in I walk, with my stiletto swagger and little butt shake that can only be accomplished in a pair of sky-high heels and pencil skirt, and this damn place stopped me dead in my size 7 tracks. I was staring at flagstone- inside. So we walk in to find it's not just flagstone, there's also cobblestone and brick, which all looks like it was laid by someone who was hitting the bottle during the project.

As if pushing through thousands of swaying, drunk people isn't challenging enough, they had to make every floor in every room uneven and full of nooks and crannies. The bar should have a warning about the floor (and the lack of fashion generally found inside). If I was aware that it was OK to wear jeans and a  beer-stained sweatshirt there...well, I still wouldn't have worn one, but you get the idea.

Aren't bars supposed to be the place where you get all dressed up and look your best so you can drink too much and stagger around making googly eyes at unsuspecting prospects? Or have a night out with the girls, where you spend two hours getting ready to dance and whoop it up all night? (Admittedly I don't fit into either category, but I also don't got to bars like this, so cut me some slack).

 I can't even count the number of times I almost fell over, where I would have undoubtedly been trampled by dirty sneakers and people in ill fitting clothes.

Who would do this? Why would you design a bar so blatantly hazardous and anti-fashion? That coupled with the fact that it took 20 minutes to get a drink, made the night almost a total waste of good shoes. Luckily we had some good company, and my fiance was able to reconnect with old friends, while I made some new friends, who all loved my shoes.

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