Something strange happened the other week.
I was in Zara (not the strange part, it happens far too often) when I found myself drawn to a pair of black and white polka dot shoes.
They were silk and pointed, chic. Then I turned them around and saw the heel. It was a kitten heel.

The shoes with the tiny little heel about the size of a finger nail, so pointless it's almost not worth being there. The training-wheel heels we tottered around in as tweens then became a go-to shoe in the nineties before being banished to frumpy land.