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St. Andrews | Culture

High Heels, Higher Purpose: HerCampus’ Walk a Mile

Updated Published
Vic Priestner Student Contributor, University of St Andrews
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at St. Andrews chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.

For the third year in a row, Her Campus St Andrews took to the streets in towering red heels for “Walk a Mile,” an annual international march that asks men to literally walk a mile in women’s shoes to raise awareness around sexual and domestic violence. And walk they did – some gracefully, some wobbling like newborn deer, and at least one participant using a friend as a human crutch the entire way. All in the name of charity, solidarity, and the slow but steady deconstruction of toxic masculinity (one blister at a time).

This year, the event raised over £500 for Fife Women’s Aid, a charity providing lifesaving support for women and children experiencing domestic abuse. But more importantly, the walk didn’t just ask people to show up – it asked them to learn. After some criticism last year that the event felt “performative,” Chapter President Lily Andrews revamped the entire format. Instead of simply strutting from point A to point B, participants were guided through town with a narrated tour that highlighted the realities of sexualised violence: the statistics, the systems that sustain it, and the ways communities can become safer, more accountable spaces.

Lecture and heels: truly the St Andrews experience.

The guided walk meant that each momentary stop became more than a rest break for ankles; it became a moment to absorb the scale of the issue. The realities shared – like the fact that 1 in 4 women in the UK have been raped or sexually assaulted since age 16, or that fewer than 3 in 100 reported rapes result in charges within the year – hit harder when delivered to a group of men wobbling on cobblestones in stilettos. Understanding, after all, is not a passive activity. And neither is balance.

But of course, in the spirit of “one step back,” not everything went perfectly. Halfway through the march, a couple of men emerged from the Cross Keys pub to heckle participants. Yes – in the middle of an event meant to raise awareness about gender-based harassment, participants were… harassed. Irony is not dead; it’s alive, slightly drunk, and standing outside a bar at 7pm.

Yet the group kept walking. The men in heels kept standing tall (metaphorically – literally, some were clinging to a lamppost). And the moment only underscored why the walk matters: because the problem isn’t theoretical. It’s right there, on Market Street, gesturing and shouting.

Still, the day wasn’t defined by that interruption. A student-run company provided food, donations rolled in, and the atmosphere – though centred on a serious cause – felt unified. There was laughter, camaraderie, hands held for balance, men discovering the unique agony of a buckle digging into an ankle bone, and a collective refusal to be embarrassed into silence.

The power of Walk a Mile lies in its contrast. It’s activism in red heels. It’s education delivered with both empathy and blister plasters. It’s a reminder that dismantling gender-based violence isn’t always linear or glamorous or comfortable – but it’s possible when people are willing to show up, learn, and sometimes literally fall over for the cause.

So yes: three steps forward, one step back. Sometimes that step back is a heckler outside Cross Keys. Sometimes it’s just a particularly uneven paving stone. But the point is that the group keeps moving – supporting survivors, funding vital services, challenging harmful norms, and proving that change can be slow, imperfect, and occasionally wobbly… but it’s happening. As a victim of sexual violence myself, I can say that I’m proud to have been involved. 

And if nothing else, at least now a handful of St Andrews men truly understand the meaning of “my feet are killing me.” Consider it experiential learning.

I'm a fourth year Social Anthro student here in soggy St Andrews with the wrinkles and sodden wellies to prove it! I can be found at all times cradling an over-priced oat hot chocolate, shivering on East Sands and most importantly avoiding the ever incessant question of which pub of our teeny tiny town is my favourite. I'm convinced there's never a right answer.