I got this idea when reading an article called "Pieces of you" by Walter Kirn, and there will be a few excerpts from the article. It's truly beautiful.

For angellwings, because her birthday was sometime and someplace but I was clueless.

Thank you to Standard-Ang3l for editing.

In the fairy tale, Cinderella goes unnoticed until her appearance is magically transformed to match little girls' ideal of loveliness, which they grow up believing is little boys' ideal of loveliness. This belief is wrong, though. And I should know, because I'm a grown-up boy who longs for Cinderellas who've never touched a pair of glass slippers—who are plenty alluring barefoot. I prefer them to some princesses I've danced with. I prefer them—these unconventional-looking women who too frequently call themselves ugly or imperfect when they ought to call themselves perfecting—because their transformations are still ongoing.

Ella has shoes in every color, Nate notices as he steps into her office. And they're extremely organized into a color progression, from white to black and every shade in between. Stephanie comes in behind him and wraps her arms around his torso.

"I thought I told you to wait for me, Natie."She giggles, pecking his cheek and it leaves a pink, sticky mark that he wipes off.

"Sorry, I was hoping that Ella would be in." Stephanie's generic pretty face suddenly becomes not so stunning as she scowls at the mention of Ella

"Why do you need to talk to her?" Her voice reminds him of chipmunks and he's not quite sure why they're together. Stephanie looks at the shoes again and smirks.

"Well, Ella must have some man. There's not one high heel in here." Nate glares at the shoes accusingly, and wonders why Stephanie always mentions shoes and relationship status in the same breath.

"What do her shoes have to do with anything?"

Stephanie flips her straw colored hair over her shoulder.

"Um, duh Natie, she doesn't need to get a man so she can wear flats. Flats are for married people or nuns." She huffs again and crosses her arms. " single girls equal heels, un-single girls equal flats."

Nate looks at Stephanie's feet and notes the towering stilettos, he wonders briefly if she knows that her toes are turning purple from the fit not being quite right.

"Except if you're me, of course."

Single girls wear heels to get a man, people in a relationship wear flats.

He catalogs this in his mind to think about later.

"Natie, I thought we were going some where." She flutters her lashes and leans towards him. He side steps her and avoids her near kiss. "I'll just leave a note on her desk." Scribbling a quick, "¿dónde estás? " he takes Stephanie's hand and leads her out of Ella's office.

The pretty one answers for both of them in most cases. Hers is the dominant personality, and her heels are higher, too.

He takes her to Lolita's. A taboo in Caitlyn's world, because relationships are fleeting, but good food and friendships are continuous. That's stupid, I never agreed to Cait's stupid terms and conditions. He focuses intently on the menu while Stephanie babbles endlessly over her new jewel encrusted phone cover.

"Natie! You never pay attention to me." She whines, her lips falling into a child's pout.

"You were talking about how the other girls are jealous about your phone cover because there's only so many of them that have been made." He replies, flipping through the menu again.

"There's only been two-hundred, it's a big deal." Nate glances at the door and realizes that Jason and Caitlyn have just walked in. He excuses himself from the table and makes his way over the couple.

"Hey guys." He bounces on his toes as Caitlyn's lips purse.

"I'm going to pretend that there isn't a blonde harlot in one of my favorite restaurants." She jibbed, picking up the menu scanning it angrily even though she probably has it memorized.

"She isn't a harlot, Cait."

"Uh, you might want to rethink that." Jason inclined his head to Nate's table.

There she was, leaning over the table and rubbing a waiters arm, slipping him a paper that Nate was sure had nothing to do with their order.

"So what? I can't be friendly?"
"No, I'm saying you shouldn't flirt with other people."
"God, I didn't know you'd be so jealous. You weren't even paying attention to me."
"I wasn't even gone three minutes!"
"If you're going to get so angry, I'm going to find someone who wont!"
"Good luck with that!"

They came in all shapes and sizes, these French ticklers, but rarely in the standard ones. The cut and drape of their appearances was haute couture, not off-the-rack. Until I saw them, I hadn't realized how many ways there are for women to be themselves—their best and most enchanting selves.

Over the next few weeks, Nate thought about what Stephanie had said about a woman's choice of shoes. He observed that neither Mitchie nor Caitlyn wore heels, but he'd always guessed that that was for practicality. Rather than the fact they were in relationships. But when he looks at around Ella's co-workers, every single one of them were wearing heels and had their shirts undone to the last button before scandal.

So, Nate knew that there had to be some truth to Stephanie's words.

He knocks on the door to Ella's office, glancing through the window at her. She was at her desk, hovering over new sketches.

The charm of a barefoot Cinderella is that her beauty obeys no formula and therefore can sneak up on a man. When he becomes aware of it, he feels like he's discovered a secret. And secrets are always exciting.

"Come in."

So he did, and he looked at the shelves of flats again. She gives an off hand greeting and offers him something to drink

"Who's the man?" He asks, before he can stop himself.

Ella looks up from her sketches quizzically, her glasses sitting on the edge her nose.

"What man?" She looks around her office, trying to figure out what Nate is talking about.

"The guy you're dating." Nate states, acid biting at his words. Ella bristled. "Well, I'm not dating anyone. I'm not sure how you got that idea, but I'm waiting for someone to realize that I exist. So thank you for pointing out my loneliness." She quipped, going back to her work and drawing with more force than necessary.

"Stephanie said-"

"What does that bimbo honestly know?" Ella snapped before clapping her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! Or, well, I do but I didn't mean to say that out loud!"

Nate gave a small smile and sat in one of Ella's white chairs and whispered "It's okay, we broke up." Ella blinked behind her glasses, processing what Nate had said to her. He always whispered things he really wanted her to pay attention to; like a game of 'who-was-actually-listening'.

"Huh, well I'd say I'm sorry but..." She shrugged, trailing off her words. "What brought this on anyway?"

He relays the entire conversation about shoes.

"... and that's why I wanted to know who your boyfriend was."

She quirks an eyebrow and crosses her arms.

"Nate, how many times have you been to my office." She doesn't wait for an answer, "Hundreds, and how many times have I had stock piles of shoes in it? Never, and they aren't even my size. Think about what's happening to the building and the department I work in." She grins when the light bulb flicks on.

"The styling department is being remodeled. I must look like an idiot." He sighed, running a hand down his face.

"P.S. heels hurt my feet. I really only wear them when I have too."

The plainer one (the supposedly plainer one) isn't wearing heels. They hurt her feet, and she's not afraid to say so because she has no image to preserve

He looks for Ella at Mitchie's album release and finds her near the bar.

"Hey." He offers shyly, glancing quickly at her feet. Flats. She grins a little and faces him. "Oh the man of many words tonight, I see." Her make-up is next to natural and her hair hasn't changed since he saw her at the office, but she looks amazing. "You know Nate, my shoes haven't changed in the last thirty seconds, I doubt they're now." She pats the stool next to her and he gladly obliges. He wonders, not for the first time, why he had never done this before? Why hadn't he asked her out on a real date?

"Let's get out of here." She raises an eyebrow and sips at her drink. "You just sat down Nate, wouldn't it look rude if you just left?" He just shakes his head and grins. "So what? Are you asking me out on a date?" She laughs and props her elbows on the counter, causing Nate to shift uncomfortably. Did she really think that dating him could be a joke? Her laughter stops immediatly and she tilts his face to her. "Are you seriously asking me out? Right here, right now." Nate swallows thickly and nods his head, feeling faintly like a school boy. A grin blooms slowly across her face.

"I'd love that."

Together, you and your ilk have granted men a power we've longed for since we were teenagers: the ability to see through clothes, not to mention layers of foundation and coquettish posing, to the sexy center of a woman. You taught us to walk into parties, bars, and offices and look around not for pageant-winning figures, blown-glass complexions, and foreshortened noses, but direct our gaze downward, at women's feet. Crooked toes? No glass slippers? Promising