I got shoes

As I stepped into my office wearing clogs for the first time, I felt my heart beating even louder than the noise my wooden-soled footwear produced as I strolled along the tiled floor.

Why was I wearing clogs at the office? Well, the story starts here

I worked for a extremely conservative attorney bureau, so you might understand that dress-codes were important issues. Although they were seldom (if ever) brought up, it was implicit that a very formal outfit was required.

Clog code

My conventional collar and tie suit definitively didn’t go with clogs, so I put together a less formal setup, with a fine jacket and matching pants of a different color, and a turtleneck instead of shirt. In my opinion, my new looks were sophisticate and “European”. Anyways, I hoped I could get away with my wearing clogs in that formal environment.

I tried to act as natural and casual as possible: I have to admit that, to my amazement, nobody mentioned or even seem to notice my clogs. As I encountered my supervisor, he did stare briefly at my feet. Then he gazed at me with a puzzled look. Immediately after that, as if he hadn’t seen anything strange, he plainly continued:
“Hey, what’s up! I need you to file all these papers, and then …”
I got some scant compliments from my female co-workers, of the sort of “nice clogs!”, and that was that. None of the taunts or mocks I was expecting… not even from the customary office-jester.

Oddly enough, it was one of the ladies who made fun of me: "Do you have the matching purse, dear?"

If they only knew that I was also wearing a bra and panties! Sandy insisted that feminine underwear would extend her control over me during my work-hours, and “by the way”, she said, “it will prevent you from attempting any away-from-home flirtation”
It worked all right, and it also made me feel quite self-conscious and consequently somewhat shy. I really felt ill at ease whenever I had to go to the men’s room. During coffee-breaks, when the chat with the guys took that archetypal sexist turn, I surprised myself feeling quite uncomfortable. I started spending my breaks with the girls.

But my shyness disappeared one day, somewhere during my second clog-week. I always tried to avoid the stairs, as my clogs made a hell of a noise in that staircase. But one day I had no option but to go down a couple of floors using the stairway. I was doing my best to walk quietly, as I was reached by a colleague clicking along in her heels.
“What’s the idea of walking carefully like that?” she asked, “if you are wearing clogs, you have to assume its consequences! You have to be assertive, proud, and say here I am, with my clogs!”
And she started stomping, making even more noise as she continued down the stairs. “She’s right!”, I thought to myself, “what is the whole idea of wearing clogs if I am not to enjoy them in whole, including that magnificent, “assertive” noise they produce?”

But work was not what it used to be. I had been the perfect employee, working overtime, even moonlighting, striving to get promoted. Not anymore: now I counted the hours anxiously before I could get back home, and become Debbie again.