The scene ends and the director yells “Cut!” and the cameras cease filming. The star, a tall and distinguished blonde steps down from the podium and straightens her tailored black suit jacket, releasing a deep and cleansing breath the way her yoga instructor taught her.
The director’s beard informs the thin-hipped, high-cheeked starlet that she can relax for a few minutes. Her stilettos take her over to her chair in the adjoining room. She sits with an audible groan and removes her heels, first one and then the other. She rubs her aching feet.
Her feet are large. Long and wide and flat-bottomed, they are surprisingly formidable, at least in the eyes of the set-hands standing by and looking on. The elegant, expensive shoes are narrow, pointed. Deceiving, the stage-hands thought. Must be excruciating to wear.
The long day of production trudges on. For a few stage-hands, the perception of the starlet is ever-so-slightly but forever-after altered by their remarkable and inadvertent discovery. In the minds of a select minority, she would be known as the the starlet with big feet.
Such is the blunt and unapologetic cruelty with which we label. Such is the heavy burden of celebrity.