Since their invention, high heels have moved in and out of the fashion cycle, celebrated in some eras but looked down upon in others. They have historically carried cultural baggage, from seduction to propriety, forcing women into a mold shaped by the male gaze. Women’s clothing has long been criticized, turning a choice of outfit into an exercise of power, and heels are no exception. In an age where women continue to gain economic and political autonomy, it wouldn’t hurt to add height to the list of ways that women can be equal to men. Here’s a look at the history behind a few different types of these iconic accessories.
The Riding Boot: A Background
According to Elizabeth Semmelhack, director and senior curator at the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto, the earliest high heel was the riding boot, designed to help secure the rider’s heels in stirrups. From the 10th century through the mid-18th century, heels were considered male or unisex footwear, even worn by kings as a symbol of status.
As women began wearing heeled shoes in the mid-to-late 17th century, societal trends increasingly distinguished men’s heels from women’s heels. By the 18th century, men typically wore thick heels, while women wore thinner ones. Over the course of the Enlightenment, men’s heels became modeled after practical riding boots, or tall leather boots worn for status rather than height and fashion. Later, the cultural implications of high, thin heels were fixed: They represented femininity and the supposed superficiality and extravagance of women.
That label never fully peeled off. In the 1970s, second-wave feminists often pointed to heels as a symbol of what women were expected to endure to maintain their appearance: pain, restriction and decoration. This resentment was fitting when women were pressured to wear them, but for most women today, heels are no longer a mandatory uniform.
Stripper Heels: Public Discourse
Since becoming a fixture of women’s fashion, high heels have earned a bad rap — as, it seems, does everything associated with women. Tall heels have even been labeled “stripper heels.” The phrase sexualizes both the shoe and the woman wearing it, while also carrying contempt for sex workers. It assumes that a woman in heels must be dressing for an audience.
Instead of admitting that heels are feminine, men often dismiss them as impractical and accuse women who wear them of seeking attention. A similar judgement appears in the professional sphere. Fields such as nursing and teaching were once dominated by men; now that they are associated with women, the perception that these positions are lesser prevails. Sociologists refer to this pattern as devaluation theory or gender devaluation. But the bias is covert: Rather than explicitly devaluing teaching because women primarily do it, society recasts the work as nurturing and therefore less difficult. Comparably, as women have taken over association with the high heel, the shoe has been reduced to performative rather than powerful.
Heels do draw attention. They change your posture and gait, and they read as high status. But attention is a byproduct, not proof of motive. Nobody accuses a man in a tailored suit of begging to be noticed. I argue that men who frame heel-wearing as attention-seeking behavior may feel that their attraction to women in heels is beyond their control, so they attempt to regain power by putting those women down.
Kitten Heels: A Personal Account
Since the summer of 2026, I’ve worn heels everywhere, stepping through grates, jumping at concerts and running late to events. My main reason? I didn’t want to wear socks anymore. Kitten heels became my go-to, along with wedges for sunny days and platforms to see over heads at concerts. I became obsessed, buying heels at every thrift event I went to, accumulating a collection to match every possible color combination in my wardrobe and decorating my bedroom walls with high heels hung from strings on Command hooks.
The compliments came strutting in: “I love your shoes!” was the usual remark; “Ugh, your fits always look so good,” came from those who saw me often; “Don’t listen to that propaganda,” was what I heard when I voiced my uncertainty about my shoe choice. Despite feeling stupid walking around campus, heels clacking, announcing my arrival, I have never received a negative judgment or jab.
The voice telling me I looked silly wasn’t coming from the people around me. It was something I had internalized long before I bought my first pair, the same centuries-old idea that anything feminine and decorative must also be unserious. I just chose to walk it off.
Platforms: A Message to You
For me, wearing casual heels was not just a stylistic choice, but also personal one. To wear them, you have to quiet the doubts in your head that you look silly, that you’re seeking attention or that you’re too much. Heels aren’t inherently oppressive, and they aren’t inherently empowering either. These meanings we attach to them are implanted by a misogynistic society that continues to devalue and degrade women at every turn.
For the sake of feminism, put the heels on. Once restrictive because women were expected to wear them, heels can now be uplifting when worn on our own terms, because they show that women are not scared of what people think. Whether you want to elevate your everyday looks, hate wearing socks or simply want to be taller than men — heels can be your best friend.