My parents are both tall with long feet – Dad wears size-13 shoes and Mum size 10s. So it was no surprise that throughout my childhood, I was always the tallest girl in my class at school – indeed, often the tallest person – with feet to match. As a result, I was often called Big Foot and Big Bird by other children, jibes that hurt.
By the time I was 14, I had size-12 feet and thought it was the end of the world. I remember going from shop to shop as my mum asked if they stocked "big" shoes – and the answer was almost always an emphatic no. Indeed, some shop assistants could barely conceal their horror at my feet. For a self-conscious teenager, it was agony and there were a lot of tears.
![Too big for my boots.](/web/20170105210135im_/http://www.canberratimes.com.au/content/dam/images/g/s/y/d/e/k/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gsvdyu.png/1480203284829.jpg)
Once, a salesperson told me to go to the men's department, and on another occasion an assistant joked that I should wear the shoebox instead. I didn't find it funny.
As a teenager I wanted to wear what all the other girls were wearing – cute, strappy sandals and espadrilles – but they were never available in my size. I also hated going shopping with my girlfriends when they wanted to look at shoes. I would refuse to go into the shop and instead wait outside, as it was torture to see all the beautiful styles and to watch as they tried on whatever they wished. The choices available to me were so sensible and boring – and usually in black, white or beige.
To make matters worse, they were "grandma" or orthopaedic shoes. It wasn't until I was in my 30s that I had a pair of shoes in a bright colour. Shoes help mark life's milestones: shoes for school, your first job, shoes for travelling, for a wedding as a bride or a bridesmaid and, of course, shoes for the school formal.
I hated the shoes I had to wear to my formal. I had what I thought was the most divine dress in the world (a white, strapless, '50s-style affair cinched at the waist, with a cute shoulder wrap) but on my feet were chunky court shoes with a solid, low heel that looked like something my grandma would wear. I wanted sparkling, strappy sandals like all the other girls, but, yet again, they weren't available in my size.
Later in life, when my boss announced that staff had to wear a navy uniform I stormed out of his office saying: "You don't know how hard it's going to be for me to find size-12 navy shoes!"
I used to joke that my outfits stopped at my ankles as I wasn't responsible for my shoes. But I am actually lucky in as much as my feet are average in width; it's even harder if you have long feet that are wide, and harder still if you have long feet that are narrow.
One woman with long feet told me how she swam competitively as a child and was accused by the mother of another child of cheating because of her "big" feet. Others are told they have feet like a gorilla or, a popular taunt, "clown feet". Some, to this day, won't wear dresses because they don't want people to see their feet.
While I was always frustrated about the length of my feet preventing me from finding beautiful footwear, I never thought to hide them or squish them into shoes too small. That's why, these days, I'm on a mission to call our feet "long" – not "big" or "large", with all the connotations that go with those words.
I now own a shop for women with longer feet, and first-time customers often burst into tears when they visit. And, of course, I start crying too. They're happy tears. They can't believe everything in the shop will fit them, and a favourite moment for many is when they try on a shoe and it's too long.
Carol Haffke is the author of In My Shoes (The Shoe Garden Press).