They say fashion is a language. Well, spiked platform heels are not here to talk. They’re here to scream — to crush conformity, stab through hypocrisy, and leave bloody imprints on the faces of polite society. And you know what? That’s exactly why I wear them.
Hi. I’m Lina Macabre, vocalist of Venomous Sin, full-time goth queen, and part-time executioner of bad taste. And today, we’re going to rip into the fake feminism, aesthetic fragility, and spineless footwear that’s trying to erase what spiked platform heels truly are: weapons of domination in a world trying to sedate you with beige loafers and “cute vibes.”
So buckle the fuck up. Or trip over your Crocs on the way out.
The Truth About Spiked Platform Heels (That Fashion Bloggers Are Too Cowardly to Say)
Let’s get this out of the way: spiked platform heels are not just edgy shoes. They are a statement. They’re not for blending in. They’re for announcing your arrival like a thunderstorm with a vendetta. And no, Karen, they’re not “a bit much for the office.” They are the office. They are the meeting. They are the severed head of your toxic boss served on a latex platter.
Spikes aren’t decoration. They’re deterrents. They say: “I could make you bleed, but I’ll settle for breaking your delusions.” Platforms aren’t just to make us taller. They raise us above the swamp of passive-aggressive mediocrity that society keeps trying to drown women in.
I wear spiked platforms because I refuse to be digestible. I refuse to be “understood.” I refuse to be reduced to a size 36 kitten heel and a whisper.
Why the World Hates Loud Women in Loud Shoes
Let’s not pretend. Women who wear spiked platform heels get treated like threats. And you know why? Because people are afraid of people with confidence.
Every time you walk into a room in a 6-inch monster of a shoe with chrome-plated spikes, some insecure bastard clutches his fragile ego like it’s about to fall off. He sees power, unapologetic femininity, and height he can’t compete with — and he wilts.
And don’t even get me started on the fake woke bros who say they “respect women” but flinch when you stomp past them in heels that look like they were forged in Satan’s BDSM dungeon. These are the same ones who will praise a girl for being “natural” and “authentic” — translation: easier to manipulate.
Spiked platform heels don’t come with submission. They don’t bend. They don’t yield. And that’s what makes them dangerous.
Spiked Platform Heels Aren’t Symbols. They’re Consequences.
I don’t dress to express. I dress to eliminate. Spiked platform heels aren’t a statement — they’re a warning. If you flinch, good. If you stare, better. You were never meant to feel comfortable around them.
Goth fashion never asked for space. It took it. It never begged for approval — it cleared the room. These heels aren’t part of a ritual. They’re what’s left after I walked through one and kicked it apart.
They’re scraped, heavy, hostile — not for style, but because they’ve been where passivity gets swallowed. Concrete. Club floors. Airport metal detectors. Studio sets. Places where silence is expected — and I showed up loud.
They never cracked.
Only the surface around them did.
High Fashion vs. High Fantasy — Why Mainstream Brands Water It Down
Let’s dissect the betrayal.
When big brands try to “borrow” the aesthetic of spiked platform heels, they gut it. They shrink the spikes. They lower the platform. They paint it in pastel or beige. They call it edgy but elegant.
No. That’s not edgy. That’s clickbaitgutted.
A true spiked platform heel looks like it could be evidence in a murder trial. It’s supposed to make the person next to you wonder if you might actually do something illegal. It’s supposed to put your rage on display, sculpted in leather and steel.
What they fear is the truth behind the heel — that it doesn’t want to be loved. It wants to be respected. Feared. Worshipped. Or left the hell alone.
How to Wear Spiked Platform Heels Without Apologizing
Here’s your beginner’s guide to not giving a shit:
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Wear them with everything. Grocery run? Wear them. Family dinner? Double the spikes. Funeral? Make the priest nervous.
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Practice your stomp. Don’t tiptoe. You’re not a ballerina. You’re a dominatrix with an axe to grind.
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Don’t explain yourself. Ever. You’re not a TED Talk. You’re a threat.
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Pair with venom. Whether it’s a leather corset, a PVC trench coat, or nothing but attitude — own the venom.
And yes — expect stares. Expect whispers. Expect snide comments from normies, dildoprophets, and hashtaglobotomized fashion influencers who wear platform sneakers and think that’s rebellion. Wear your spikes like you were born in them.
Why I’ll Die in My Heels (And You Should Too)
Spiked platform heels are more than fashion. They’re survival.
In this world, women are still told to shrink. Told to be quiet. Told to be reasonable. But my shoes say otherwise. They say fuck-you sauce to the idea that femininity should be soft, round, and palatable.
I don’t want to be palatable. I want to be poisoned embrace with a side of Kristi Kukfärd. I want to walk into a room and make the wallpaper peel.
You think it’s “just shoes”? Tell that to the girl who wore them on her worst day and finally felt powerful. Tell that to the queer kid who strapped on heels and finally saw themselves in the mirror. Tell that to me — a survivor, a creator, a vocalist, a woman with blood in her throat and steel on her feet.
Final Verdict: If Your Heels Don’t Hurt Someone, You’re Doing It Wrong
Let this be your call to arms. Donate your ballet flats to the sad souls still hoping for approval. Burn your safe shoes. Step into danger.
Wear the spikes. Own the platform. Raise hell.
And while you’re at it, soundtrack your life with the band that stomps louder than your heels ever will. We are Venomous Sin, and if you liked this unapologetic rant, you’ll love our sonic carnage.
Enter our world here:
🌐 https://venomoussin.com/
📺 YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@venemoussin
🎧 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/4SQGhSZheg3UAlEBvKbu0y?si=qKMljt6rT1WL0_KTBvMyaQ
Now go stomp the patriarchy with style.
