Distress.

ANNIE VALA’S DIARY

I'm going to confess a contradiction to you.

I recently traveled to Miami and, as always, I didn't know what to wear. I packed half a suitcase full of heels —my own, from Vala Blanca— and, when I unpacked, I noticed something that made me laugh and feel embarrassed at the same time: there was a pair I had never, ever worn. Anguish. The purple ones.

And then I felt, precisely, anguish. How was it possible that I hadn't worn my own shoes for the first time? One designs, dreams, takes care of every detail... and then leaves them waiting in the box. Like those beautiful things we save "for a special occasion" that never comes.

You have to know something: Miami is the only city where I've seen women still loving high heels. They don't tolerate them: they love them. And I thought: if not here, where? If not now, when?

So I put them on. I paired them with a long, bias-cut dress in pearl gray, one of those that look like liquid when you walk. The backless design, hair pulled back, bare lips, and gold hoop earrings as the only sparkle. Everything else silent, in neutral tones, so that the purple was the only thing speaking loudly.

I felt more alive than ever. I danced at Space until six in the morning with my new shoes, without sitting down once.

And something happened that night: the purple, that color I had avoided so much, made me feel confident. Powerful. As if I had finally given myself permission.

My own feet gave me the moral: don't save beautiful things for later. "Later" is a place that often doesn't exist. Put on the dress. Wear the new heels. Dance until the sun comes up. The only thing that truly causes anguish is not having used it.

Next Sunday I'll tell you about a glass of milk, a 101-year-old woman, and a pair of blue shoes that almost didn't make it. You won't want to miss it.

Love,

Annie Vala.