There is a Sex and the City episode titled A Woman’s Right to Shoes where Carrie Bradshaw loses her designer heels at a party and is judged for her lifestyle when she dares to ask for compensation.
The shoes become a metaphor for the choices women make and the societal scrutiny they endure. I couldn’t help but think of this episode while reading about the scandalous shoe saga at the Australian National University (ANU).
ANU is in serious financial trouble. The university is attempting to save $250 million by 2026, including $100 million through salary cuts. Over 200 staff have already been made redundant, and more cuts are expected.
Amid this turmoil, the Nixon Review commissioned in response to disclosures of harm, revealed a toxic culture of bullying, sexism, racism, and harassment, particularly within the former College of Health and Medicine. The findings were damning: widespread abuse, poor governance, and a “remarkable tolerance” for bad behavior.
So you’d think the focus would be on fixing these systemic issues. Instead, the public discourse has bizarrely zeroed in on a pair of shoes worn by Vice-Chancellor Genevieve Bell.
Bell, who was appointed in January 2024, resigned this week under pressure for her handling of the university’s restructuring and cultural crisis. But what fascinates me is the symbolism that a pair of Golden Goose Super Star sneakers, retailing between $700 and $1300, has taken on. Bell wore them to an ANU function earlier this year, and in an interview, she spoke about her love for shoes, joking that she owned “considerably fewer than Imelda Marcos.”
This comment sparked a campaign by students and staff, who began posting photos of their own shoes online under the banner “Shoes of ANU.” The movement, backed by protest group ANU Resistance, used footwear as a symbol of the disconnect between university leadership and those affected by the cuts. Posters read “Resist sneaker capitalism,” and captions on shoe photos told stories of job loss, financial anxiety, and disillusionment.
Critics argue that while Bell was discussing her shoe collection, people were losing their livelihoods. Others say the campaign was justified, pointing to Bell’s $1.1 million salary and the broader issue of exorbitant executive pay.
But I find the fixation on her shoes eerily reminiscent of Julia Gillard’s jacket controversy, where Germaine Greer and Tony Abbott commented on the fit of the Prime Minister’s clothing, reducing her leadership to her appearance.
Would the same campaign have been launched if the Vice-Chancellor were a man wearing $1700 Dior Timeless Loafers?
Many argue this isn’t about sexism and that women in power can and should be held accountable without every critique being labelled gendered. That’s true. But let’s judge Genevieve Bell on her leadership, her decisions, and her handling of the university’s crisis — not on a pair of shoes she may have owned for years, bought second-hand, or purchased with her own hard-earned money, which she is fully entitled to spend as she chooses.
Some say it’s all about perception and yes, perception matters. But must a woman dress a certain way to be seen as empathetic or in touch with hardship?
If we expect leaders to perform empathy through their wardrobe, we risk reinforcing the very stereotypes that keep women from leading in the first place.
Amy Capuano, ANU’s Director of Public Affairs, revealed that Bell was advised to tie back her hair, dress conservatively, and not gain weight.
This week, statistics released bye 2025 Chief Executive Women (CEW) Senior Executive Census, paint a concerning picture of gender representation in leadership across corporate Australia. Eighteen of the ASX 300 companies currently have no women in executive leadership teams, only 10 per cent of CEO positions on the ASX 300 are held by women and a quarter of ASX 300 companies have actually gone backwards in terms of women’s representation in leadership in 2025. Is it any wonder women are opting out?
The university is in crisis. Staff and students are anxious about their futures. The Nixon Review has laid bare a culture that needs urgent reform. Yet, the public narrative has been hijacked by a pair of sneakers.
If anything, this saga smashes the glass cliff with a designer sole. Too bad they were trainers and not the red Louboutins Julie Bishop wore on her last day in parliament, a calculated fashion statement that became a symbol of female empowerment.
Let’s refocus the conversation. The real scandal isn’t the shoes, it’s the culture, the governance, and the treatment of women in leadership. A woman’s right to shoes should never be a metaphor for her right to lead without being reduced to her wardrobe.