My first ever Instagram post was a birds-eye-view photo of my legs, donning galaxy tights and a pair of Jeffrey Campbell platform wedges, posted in 2010. Its purpose was to cement my status as an alluring ‘Tumblr-girl’ with a knack for amateur photography. I chose a film filter — probably X Pro II or 1977 — for added authenticity. I was 14. 

Fast forward 14 years later, and I’m scrolling down a very different Instagram feed. In 2024, filters are a sign of inauthenticity and photos of your legs taken at birds-eye-view are nowhere to be seen.

But on this particular day, there is a single post that looks starkly out of place. It’s the latest post from 2000-born LA-based shoe company Jeffrey Campbell (a shoe brand known for their iconic platforms of the early-mid '00s and 2010s) advertising their newest shoe: "Tick".

 

 

 

 

 

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A post shared by Jeffrey Campbell (@jeffreycampbell)

I almost did a double-take. Have I woken up back in 2010? With a black leather upper, open toe and a platform wedge-heel covered in thumbtack pin-like studs, the shoe was staring back at me just like it did all over my Tumblr feed in the early high school years, making itself impossible to ignore.

This campaign photo is very reminiscent of the Tumblr-esque photoshoots my friends and I shot like amateurs on the regular (a silent bid for thousands of reposts that could shoot us into overnight Tumblr fame.) Records are strewn across a tattered Persian rug that a smokey-eyed model sits atop, with her legs in an accidentally sexy crouched position on the floor; as though she’s been rolling around for hours. Her hair is messy-chic, she’s wearing a short tight dress and she looks like she might’ve been partying for a few days — in a hot way. She’s the kind of girl The Arctic Monkeys would’ve written songs about. She’s the kind of girl who’d stand up in a convertible car, arms in the night air and urge you to go faster. She’s the kind of girl you’d think about all the time because she’d never text you back. She’s the it-girl of emo Tumblrcore fashion. She is 2010. And now she (and her staple footwear) is back.

Y2K has been undeniably trickling back into high fashion for the past two years, from kitten-heeled thongs to statement hip belts, to layering dresses over jeans — you’d have to have been living under a fashion rock (or be on a years-long social media cleanse) to have missed it. Thus far, everything has felt like a modernised version of something past; Y2K done better, with added elements of minimalism and a greater focus on size diversity. 

But these shoes? For me, they live in a time capsule. And TBH, it’s a little unexpectedly triggering.

I was always a taller-than-average kid. Since kindergarten, I was in the back row of every school photo. Some of my classmates caught up in our final years, but for most of high school, I was taller than almost all of my friends.

So, when 2010 was upon us and those platform wedges were at the peak of party fashion, I knew I was in trouble. Everyone had a pair and I was still at the vulnerable age of abiding by cult fashion trends like an unspoken law. I’d have to have a pair — the same way I had to have a crush I spoke to on MSN daily — but I knew they’d look ridiculous on me. 

My Tumblr-obsessed friends and I went to the mall one day after school and scoured the stores that stocked Jeffrey Campbell. They were over $100 but we’d saved up. We’d spoken about getting pairs that matched but weren't identical. Even in the store, trying on the shoes, I felt like a clown. When I stood up, I seemed to tower over not only my friends but the shop assistant and all the shelves. I felt like I was wearing stilts. On one hand, I felt powerful in my tallness, but on the other hand, I felt ridiculous. 

I bought them anyway because my desire to be cool outweighed my self-consciousness. Peer pressure — especially in high school — is one hell of a beast. 

It’s so interesting to reflect upon this time in my life, because as soon as I graduated into the world of adulthood, late-night hospo jobs and a university degree; my tallness didn’t occur to me as an issue. Perhaps because it was more of a strength by then, since it elevated me into 'adult status' in environments where I was the youngest and would’ve otherwise been treated as such.

But in high school, I thought about it all the time. It felt like a burden, something that made me stand out by just existing. I could never walk into a room without being noticed, which at the time I hated because I didn’t know how to exist within my body. I wanted to be desired but didn’t feel desirable, I wanted to be touched but didn’t dare to be vulnerable and I wanted to be noticed, but not for looking out-of-place. 

Especially within romantic dynamics, I wanted someone to fall in love with me and for them to be big and strong and sexy like Ryan from The O.C. In true teenage girl fashion, I feared I never would because of my height. It didn’t even cross my mind that Ryan was played by a 24-year-old actor and that all the boys at high school were still growing — I was the problem in my mind. 

Regardless of my insecurities, I wore the trending platform wedges to the high school parties anyway. And, while they made my legs look super long and I was excited about that, I wasn’t ready to be the tallest girl at the party. Walking up a driveway on a slight incline, wearing my Jeffrey Campbells, a short tight black dress and a slicked-back ponytail, I looked like some kind of spider. It might’ve looked sleek if I was in Euphoria, but in the suburban streets of Adelaide with a bunch of other teenagers, my height made me feel like a laughing stock. 

There’s nothing worse than feeling overdressed when you’re young and in a stressful social environment. Towering above the heads of people I wanted to impress made me want to disappear. I’d rather be invisible than undesirable. It took all of my strength not to take my shoes off, walk straight back down the driveway and call my mum to pick me up. 

That moment of walking into a party, everyone looking at you and getting that sinking feeling in your stomach because you know they’re going to find something to pick on and you already feel awkward and unsexy and too tall for your age…it still haunts me today. I’m not saying it’s the shoes’ fault, but they played a key part in me feeling “different”, which is a feeling that lives on inside of me.

Even though I’m not the tallest girl at the party anymore, I still have to work through that immediate feeling of dread whenever I walk into a room of people whose opinions I care about. It’s no longer about height or being overdressed, but the feeling remains the same. I’ve got to talk myself through it, remind myself that I can’t control what people think about me and that any negative energy based purely on appearances isn’t energy I want in my orbit. As an empowered and independent woman, I feel a little ashamed to admit that standing out still makes me a little uncomfortable.

Although I’ve spent my twenties learning to celebrate my body — which includes my curves, my height and my fashion sense — I’m not sure we ever really escape the feelings of being an outsider in our teen years. Whatever it was that made us feel different back then, is always a hurdle for years to come. Now I want to stand out; to be talked about. But subconsciously; in a way that feels outside of my control; I stress that being different is negative and standing out is attention-seeking and annoying. I don’t have enough room in this article to explore the systematic sexism that is rooted in patriarchal structures and stories that have deeply impacted how we women view ourselves physically. Let’s just say it’s pretty damn layered.

As for the shoes, I’m sure that the designers at Jeffrey Campbell didn’t intend to make us tall girlies recoil at the memories of being awkward and undesirable at high school parties. The shoes are something I’d wear proudly today. In hindsight it’s nice to see things from the past come back around, because they remind us of how far we’ve come. I’m not the same girl pushing down her insecurities to wear the trendiest shoes and going home in a funk if the boy I liked didn’t want to make out with me anymore. 

If anything, I’m inclined to buy myself a pair to wear to my next event or party. Maybe it’s time to get over the trauma of being a tall girl in my teens. It did make me “different” and that’s pretty cool. Ultimately, the tallness forced me to find comfort in standing out, in being overdressed, in feeling bigger than everyone else. It led me down a path of self-acceptance that has shaped the woman I am today. And that feels like a cause for celebration; and a new pair of shoes.