I have waged a war of words with a burly, boorish South African who was trying to break a queue at Johannesburg immigration; suffice to say, I won my argument and succeeded in sending him into an interrogation room to explain his high-handed behaviour. My only regret when recalling this memory? The fact that I had on a pair of basic Kookai sneakers. In high heels, a silent pursing of lips and haughty stare would have been enough to put the lout in his place. In high heels, I would have stood tall and confident, instead of cursing at my shaking knees and fearful tremble at picking a fight in a strange land full of stranger people. In high heels, I could have simply slipped them off to whack the daylights out of an uncivilised male chauvinist.

I may constantly cringe at the obvious discomfort of an extra five inches below my soles but a sense of total control that comes with a pair of Louboutins more than makes up for evenings spent soothing my feet in tubs of rose-scented, rock salt and camphor infused hot water.

Tottering heels spell fashion like nothing else can! I choose my power pair for the occasion and work the rest of the look accordingly. Balenciaga wedges, fitted J Brand jeggings, a funky vest by Nandita Basu, a discreet string of pearls, the ‘right’ handbag (Birkin says brunch; Bottega says business) and I’m ready for a long work day. Executive meetings or highbrow lunches call for coral Dior peep-toes coupled with ivory chiffon blousons, structured camel skirts and chunky Kenneth Jay Lane gold cuffs. Glamorous evening soirees would be incomplete without my Jimmy Choo gold ‘Lance’ stilettos complementing a Raven & Rose one-shoulder, peacock feather sequinned shift and heavy jadau jhumkas. All that’s left for me to do is to control slouching slip-ups, avoid clumsy trip-ups and take frequent trips to the washroom for a fast track foot massage. When the going gets tough, a couple of Tylenols always do the trick and I’m a pain free, five feet-eight inches once again.

In any case, other power add-ons just don’t do it for me. Padded, exaggerated shoulders – too Elvis.Cinched waists with sturdy belts – force me to survive on salad for the day. Dramatic red lips – great only as long as I’m not going to chew off the dark stain and transfer the hue unflatteringly onto my teeth. Defined kohl eyes – guaranteed to give me a racoon look thanks to my overactive watery glands. So it’s lofty footwear for me any day; if Manolos can do it for Sarah Jessica Parker, then my Zanottis won’t fail me either.

That purposeful, staccato sound of a brisk stride gives me another high altogether. I’m smug in the awareness that I can’t be dwarfed by a taller man. I’m not afraid to announce my presence and I’m someone to be reckoned with. This elevated bravado was punctured greatly when security at the Israeli Consulate deemed it necessary to eliminate shoe buckles and my dozen hair clips before I could get past their angered metal detector but those jade green, rope ankle-strap BCBG pumps proved their worth when they were slipped back on as the Consul General began our meeting by noting their presence and admiring their appeal. I may add that the discussion moved smoothly and fruitfully from there on.

Let’s face it. High heels are a woman’s armour, as well as her shield. They metamorphose beautifully into useful weapons – there’s no need to practice self-defence arts like karate and t’ai chi when you’ve got a reliable metal spoke pair to wield in combat. They’re also a woman’s domain, a tool and accessory no man can carry off with our sense of panache. They enhance grace, poise, posture and can get any conversation off to a crackling start. Their recall value is immense and effective; I remember an image of a sweatshirt and tiny shorts-clad Victoria Beckham kicking off a baseball game, shod in incredibly high white Dries Van Noten sneaker-wedge heels. As ludicrous as the ensemble may have appeared at first glance, there was no doubting her presence on the field, the impact of those long legs or the overall flattering picture she presented. She was a woman in a male arena and her dominance in that one moment was all thanks to those covetable shoes. No man could have managed that!

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