I Will Never Not Be a Shoe Diva

The Red Shoes That Started It All

I remember the exact moment I became a Shoe Diva. I was six years old, chubby-cheeked with a fringe that refused to sit flat, walking through Phoenix Plaza with my mum. We weren’t shopping for anything special, just browsing, but then I saw them. A pair of red patent leather block heels for kids. Shiny, clicky, and outrageously grown-up. I begged. I pleaded. I might have cried. And bless her, Mum gave in. Those shoes didn’t just make noise when I walked – they made a statement. I wore them with every single outfit until my toes started poking out the front.

Those shoes didn’t just teach me about style. They showed me how to hold myself when the world wanted to shrink me. They taught me that beauty doesn’t require permission. That it’s okay to stand out, even when you’re six and everyone else is in light-up trainers. When I walked in those shoes, I felt taller, stronger, bolder. And from that moment, shoes became more than accessories – they became armour.

I can’t draw or paint or sew. But I can curate a look that tells a story, and it always begins at my feet. My shoes say things I can’t always put into words. They’re my art. My expression. A little gallery I wear on my body. You’ll never find a Monet on my wall – but you will find five-inch red stilettos with a bow so dramatic they belong in the Louvre.

Shoes Are My Mood Board

My shoes reflect my mood before I even know I’m feeling it. Heeled sandals? I’m off to do chores but looking cute while I do them. A heeled mule? I’m en route to the office to be both terrifying and fabulous. Ballet flats? I’m unwell and need medical assistance. A chunky pump? The world is my oyster and I am ready to eat. And if I’m in stilettos at 11am? Watch out. That’s war paint.

I always start with the shoes. I pick them first, then scramble to find an outfit that keeps up. It’s chaotic, but it works. Because fashion isn’t about rules. It’s about resonance. It’s about standing in front of the mirror and thinking, “This feels like me today.” Some days I’m rhinestones and razzle. Other days I’m matte black and menace. But whatever it is, my shoes lead the way.

And here’s the thing: shoes never punish you for existing. They don’t judge your waistline or make you cry in a fitting room. They still fit when nothing else does. On days I feel like a stranger in my own skin, a pair of sky-high heels reminds me who the hell I am. That’s not vanity. That’s survival.

The Only Thing That Always Fit

There have been years where I’ve hated my body. Where I’ve dieted and binged and punished myself in dressing rooms. Where nothing fit, nothing looked good, and nothing made sense. Except my shoes. Through grief and stress and hormone chaos and a body that shifted without warning, my shoes were still there. Consistent. Beautiful. Defiant.

I’ve cried naked on the floor more times than I care to admit, but I’ve never cried over a pair of heels. Even in my lowest moments, I’d catch a glimpse of them lined up on the floor and feel the smallest flicker of hope. Like, maybe tomorrow I’ll wear those gold Gucci platforms from The Gate. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel better.

Shoes are not shallow. They are a declaration of presence. A way of saying, “I am here. I exist. And I deserve to take up space.” When I couldn’t love my body, I loved my shoes. And that was enough to keep going.

There Is No Price on Style

I’ve owned designer shoes and $3 charity shop treasures. One didn’t make me feel more powerful than the other. Because the secret is: it’s never been about the price. It’s about how they make me feel. And baby, if they make me strut, they’re worth their weight in gold.

Style is energy. It’s intuition. It’s an eye for harmony and a gut feeling for drama. My collection is a timeline of my life. The tangerine Kurt Geiger platforms I bought in January 2015 when I got my first job in London. The white quilted leather mules by Guess I bought after firing someone in Adelaide to soothe my nervous system. The five-inch heeled loafers I wore the day the cute boy at work finally noticed me. And the bright red microsuede stilettos with a bow on the toe from YesStyle that older men constantly complimented – because confidence is timeless.

I will never not be a Shoe Diva. Because being a Shoe Diva isn’t about ego. It’s about identity. It’s about joy. It’s about choosing beauty again and again, even when life is ugly. Especially when life is ugly.

Sole Deep, Soul Deep

Shoes don’t just support me – they support my sole and my soul. When life has been completely tits up, when I’ve been lost in the fog of trauma or barely holding it together after abuse, brightly coloured shoes have been my anchor. They’ve been my return to self. I know it might sound vapid to someone who’s never had to claw their way back from rock bottom, but to me, it’s no different than hanging a canvas on your wall or placing a sculpture in your hall. This is my art. My grounding. My safety.

Don’t let anyone tell you shoes or style or “things” are silly. They’re not. Art is things. Beauty is things. Power is things. And shoes? Shoes are wearable art. Sculptures that embrace your toes and whisper, “You’ve got this, babe.” They don’t just match your outfit – they give you the energy to tackle anything and everything. There have been days where I couldn’t get out of bed, but the thought of sliding into a pair of hot pink stilettos gave me the spark I needed.

Who needs a Monet on the wall that no one can see, when you can wear art on your toes and strut your power out into the world? Style isn’t surface. It’s soul. It’s the small, deliberate choices we make to remind ourselves who we are, even when we’re breaking. Especially when we’re breaking.

Sole Mates and Style Statements

My shoes have been with me through every season of life. They’ve walked me through heartbreaks and celebrations, long days and longer nights, airports and dancefloors. When nothing else feels quite right, slipping into a pair that I love grounds me. It reminds me that no matter how messy life gets, I still get to choose how I show up. And sometimes, showing up means wearing platform boots to the supermarket.

There’s a cheekiness in shoes that no other item of clothing can quite capture. They peek out from under hems and whisper, “There’s more to me than you think.” They’re the last thing you put on, but the first thing people notice. They can be subtle or loud, classic or unhinged. They can be a form of protest or a love letter to yourself.

Even when I don’t feel confident, my shoes carry that confidence for me. They become a version of me that I can step into. When the world asks too much or I’m feeling small, a pair of bold heels makes me feel like I can take up space again. That, to me, is the magic. That’s why I’ll never stop being a Shoe Diva. Ever.

We Need to Stop Clapping for Basic Decency – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity

In today's episode of Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity, we're unpacking why we need to stop clapping for basic decency. You know the script. A man texts back within twenty-four hours and we're screenshotting it to the group chat. A man plans a date more than three hours in advance and we call him a unicorn. A man manages to listen, pay attention, and behave like a fully formed adult, and our nervous systems short-circuit because we genuinely don't know how to receive it.Here's the truth nobody is saying out loud. The bar has been dragged so low that Satan himself needs a chiropractor after a competitive round of limbo. We've been culturally trained to be grateful for behaviour that should not require gratitude. We've been told these things are bonuses when they're actually the entry requirement. And in the meantime, women have been quietly doing the basic decency thing forever, without applause, while men get standing ovations for outputs we generated for them.Today we're talking about why a great man is genuinely just an average woman, who benefits when the bar stays low, the invisible labour women have been performing for free for centuries, and the friend-test that cuts straight through every excuse we've ever made for mediocre men. Let's get into it.For more visit BryJaimea.com or follow over on IG @BryJaimea

If this post helped, inspired, or made you smile, you can support my work with a tea or tip over on Ko-fi. Every bit helps keep the chaos flowing.