My latest find is an exercise class called “Stiletto Strength,” and it’s taking the gym world by spike heel.
The classes were developed by a gym called Crunch, which offers them in Los Angeles, New York, and Miami.
Here’s the stiletto class description from their online site:
B.Y.O.H. – Bring Your Own Heels and strut your stuff runway style in this calf-boosting, posture-building, cat-walking diva class.
Evidently all calves are simply not created equal when it comes to teetering around in tarty heels—some of us require a workout just to learn how to hobble.
I wouldn’t even try. Along with practically every other muscle group, I’m a member of the calf-muscle deprived group. But there’s a reason for this: I grew up as a member of the “Stiletto Gap Generation.” Back in the late 70’s, when I was going through maximum adolescent angst, no one dreamed of wearing high heels, not even the girly-girls in the southern town where I lived. Heels meant you were overdressed. They meant you were trying too hard. They were too obvious. I don’t recall seeing a single pair of high heels in anyone’s closet during college. Later, during the 80’s, most of us switched to power heels—which meant two inches high, max.
Then I clobbered one of my knees and stopped thinking about heels altogether, except for avoiding them whenever possible. If an occasion demanded me to wear heels, I’d go for a cunning little kitten style. And I didn’t feel the least bit out of step—to my way of thinking, stilettos were what my five-foot tall mother had worn, to make herself look taller. They were strictly for the cocktail crowd, which meant O-L-D.
Fast forward twenty or so years, and I must have snapped awake—I think it happened sometime between Sex and the City and Desperate Housewives. I realized that torture shoes had made a roaring comeback, even for women my age. (Like all things fashion-related, I probably discovered this bit of news about ten years late).
So, should I take an exercise class to pump up my calves, and learn how to improve my range of motion in my ankle and great toe, which is evidently critical to acquiring a proper stiletto stride?
Hell, no! I’m already doing major damage control on my abs, thighs and triceps. There’s no stamina left over for building up ankles and toes.
So ladies, I give you your Jimmy Choos. Hand me my Easy Spirits. I guess won’t be seeing you in Stiletto Strength.