ATTACK OF THE 50 FT. WOMAN! (aka Return of the killer heels)
Until recently I lived in a country whose denizens tend to hover a couple inches north of five feet. I stand 5”11 in my stocking feet. When I wear heels I am RuPaul tall. Cyclops tall. Throw in a little peroxide and gird me in buckskin, and I’m Daryl Hannah in Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman.
Wooden snake bracelet: inherited from my mother
Big leather belt: borrowed from my aunt
Silk dress: Dué Per Dué (thrift store)
One of the first phrases I learned in Cambodia was khapoous nah! : Khmer for “really freakin’ tall.” Cries of khapoous nah! syncopated my walks through Phnom Penh’s open-air markets. Afterwards, I had plenty of time to consider khapoous nah’s meaning as I iced my forehead, invariably having clobbered it on a low-hanging tarp pole.
My favorite pair of earrings: tourist shop (Luang Prabang, Laos)
Ankle boot with patent leather heel: Cole Haan (Dillard’s)
Black semi-opaque tights: Calvin Klein (Marshall’s)
In Southeast Asia, I tend not to wear high heels to avoid decapitation, and as a public service to small children. One night in Phnom Penh I was on the prowl for a bottle of Bordeaux to bring to a dinner party, and so I made a pit-stop at the grocery store in my Cole Haan ankle boots. As I rounded the corner out of the wine aisle, I wheeled into a mother and child in the freezer section. The little girl grabbed her mother’s hand and craned her chubby face skyward. Her lips wobbled; her eyes widened. I stood my ground like a giant, solemn Easter Island head.
Turquoise wool coat: Nanette Lepore (Bloomingdales)
Suede mule with western buckle: Cole Haan (Dillard’s)
What followed was a volcanic eruption of tears from the little girl, precipitated, I believe, by her encounter with the 50 Ft. Woman.
People always called Nancy the little woman…
They’ll never do that again
Photos by Bethany Walter
