I don't know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a

The words of Marilyn Monroe—“I don’t know who invented high heels, but all women owe him a lot”—are at once playful and profound. Behind their lightness lies a recognition of how adornments, even those seemingly small, shape identity, perception, and power. To Monroe, who was both celebrated and judged for her beauty, the high heel became more than fashion—it was a symbol of elevation, of confidence, of allure. It transformed posture, gait, and presence, giving women a way to command attention in a world that often overlooked them.

The origin of this truth lies in history itself. The high heel did not begin as a tool of seduction but as a symbol of status. In the courts of Persia, and later in Europe, men wore heels to display wealth and authority, for only those who did not labor could afford such impractical footwear. In time, the adornment passed to women, who reimagined it not as a mark of idleness but of elegance. Thus, what began as a sign of power for kings became a weapon of confidence for queens. Monroe’s words reflect this long transformation: the heel became a gift to women, one they made their own.

Consider the story of Catherine de’ Medici, the Italian noblewoman who brought high heels into French court life in the sixteenth century. Small in stature, she wore them not merely to appear taller, but to project authority and presence in a court filled with intrigue. Her heels made her formidable, a woman whose physical elevation mirrored her political rise. Here we see the very power Monroe hints at: an invention that could change not only appearance, but destiny.

We might also look to Monroe herself, whose image has become immortal. She was more than an actress; she was an icon of glamour and vulnerability, strength and fragility intertwined. The high heel, often part of her public persona, symbolized both the beauty she wielded and the burden she carried. To her, the inventor of such a device was worthy of gratitude, for the heel allowed her—and countless other women—to shape how they were seen in a world eager to define them.

The meaning of the quote, then, is not merely about shoes but about transformation. A heel elevates the body, and in doing so, it elevates the spirit. It is not the leather or the height alone that matters, but the confidence it inspires. When a woman steps into high heels, she may feel herself stepping into a version of strength, allure, or command that was hidden before. Monroe, with her characteristic wit, acknowledges this hidden alchemy.

The lesson for us is clear: sometimes the tools of confidence are small, even frivolous in appearance, yet they can carry great weight. Whether it is a garment, a ritual, or a symbol, what matters is how it helps the soul rise. Do not scorn the outward adornments that give people strength, for they are often the bridge between inner doubt and outer courage. If a pair of heels can help a woman walk taller, then they serve a sacred purpose.

Practical wisdom calls us to act with awareness. Seek out the things—be they objects, practices, or disciplines—that help you feel elevated, that give you courage to walk into the world with dignity. For some it may be clothing, for others meditation, or the rhythm of a morning routine. Embrace what strengthens you, and do not belittle what strengthens others. Gratitude, like Monroe’s, transforms even the simplest things into sources of empowerment.

Thus, let Marilyn Monroe’s words endure not only as jest but as insight. The high heel, though invented by a nameless craftsman, became a gift of power when women claimed it as their own. It reminds us that strength sometimes comes not from grand inventions but from small changes that alter how we carry ourselves in the world. And in learning to walk taller—whether in heels or in spirit—we owe thanks to all that helps us rise.