The clip is set in an unfinished, dilapidated concrete building. A woman wearing a shiny black “wet-look” outfit sits on the rubble next to a pair of discarded high heels, a hat, and a mobile phone, while a second woman—dressed in the same outfit and wearing heels—approaches from the background. The two crouch together and laugh, and at the end, the first woman triumphantly holds the black high heels up in the air—fitting the title “heels already here.”
The high heels had decided to strike out on their own. After three nights in the shoe closet—spent doing nothing but whining about blisters, uneven sidewalks, and the eternal question, “Why do they always have to wear us on gravel?”—they packed up their soles and moved out. They ended up in a ruin because the atmosphere struck them as “authentically uncomfortable.” There, they waited. And waited. And waited.
When the two women finally appeared—one already dressed in a wet-look outfit, the other still getting ready—the heels whispered to one another: “Finally. We thought they’d swapped us for sneakers.” One of the women lifted them up ceremoniously, as if she had discovered the treasure of El Dorado. The heels were touched. For exactly 4.2 seconds. Then they realized the floor was made of chunks of concrete. “We made a mistake,” creaked the left heel. “We want to go back to the closet. At least there’s carpet there.”
Too late. The celebration had already begun. And somewhere off-stage, a pair of mint-green sneakers could be heard giggling softly.
