Is bigger really better?

As I dressed this morning I was more conscious than usual of looking good. I don't have a date with a guy or a school reunion for which I want to look impressively successful. Instead I have my first real foray into the world of fashion-the press day.

Having never attended such an event I am completely clueless as to the requisite dress code, manner of social interaction and appropriate entrance time. I have tried to dress like me, but better. In this case the transformation involves a pair of near 5 inch stiletto heeled black suede ankle boots from Zara.

As a tall girl without heels (approximately measuring somewhere just under the 6 foot mark) I feel remarkably self conscious with a little added height once I am firmly within the 6 foot range of official giants. But I felt that at such a fashionable function I should make the effort to look confident and ladylike.

Despite the best intentions of wearing such footwear I am more worried about the possibility of a reputation ruining (or making seeing as I am a total unknown) fall, slip or slide. When catwalk models stumble and crash to the floor (as in the finale of the latest Burberry show) it is deemed a likely outcome of the hazards of outrageously high heels. Some such moments are career defining-like Naomi Campbell's tumble at Vivienne Westwood in 1993. But again, the cause was a pair of ridiculously impractical 10 inch platform boots. Women in the current age are expected to be proficient in high heel strutting as if it were just a further addition to traditional feminine etiquette like place setting and flower arranging. I, however, am far more comfortable and at ease in flats.

Be they the converse trainers or patent Doc Martins of youth, or the brogues, loafers and worker boots of my current wardrobe flats have always been my staple footwear. I can speed walk easily, leap up stairs on the rush to the tube and often do a little jig as I listen to my music too loudly on the way to work.

As soon as I slip on some heels I feel one of two things. Either that I must maintain some aura of respectability and 'appropriate' behavior, like saying please, thank you and 'yes, darling'. Or I become some sort of Samantha Jones-esque 80s power woman- strutting like a stuck-up bitch and elevating my nose, 6 feet from the ground. The choice between the two largely depends on the type of heel. A little sandal or glittery number results in outcome A, whilst a boot or strong wedge results in personality B.

I guess you could say that both options are facets of my personality-the ever continuing struggle between 'pretty' femininity and 'fierce' independent fearlessness-but to be honest I'm not sure that I feel particularly comfortable with either. More than anything, putting on heels is synonymous for me with putting on an act. And not necessarily in a good way. I like to express different parts of my personality with varying styles of clothing but big heels make me feel like a little girl in a costume that doesn't quite fit.

I see it as a crisis of confidence.

Living in the city has made me feel more at home and more happily settled on the right path in life than I ever have done in the twenty two years which have led me up to this point. But ultimately I'm still at the start of the journey; not really sure where it's going and not sure what shoes to wear to walk to the end. Maybe today it's these ankle boots. Maybe tomorrow it's back to brogues. Maybe in a few years time it's 6 inch Nicholas Kirkwood for Rodarte sculpted dream sandals. Let's wait and see.