Thursday, August 25, 2011

Shopping, drinking and shopping

I've finally dried the vodka and gin out of my system and moved into the next year of my life. It was marked by shopping and drinking and shopping. Surprisingly, I managed to make it all the way through all that shopping without buying shoes.

I bought a dress, a skirt, sweater, panties, a bra and a satin Betsey Johnson trench with a giant ruffle down the front.

I couldn't pass it up.

I'm totally getting drunk to shop for a matching outfit
Sure, there were shoes. I tried them on, walked around with them, coveted them, and ultimately decided not to get them. I even had a pair of black peep toes in my hand at one point. I really need plain black peep toes. I decided against these though because they had a drag queen height platform on them, which is awesome, but totally not appropriate for the office. And I already have drag queen height black shoes for the days that I need to be almost six feet and walk like a geisha.

Luckily my sister saved me from my shoe drought, and gave me a pair of blue patent leather Jeffrey Campbell knee high boots to celebrate the fact that I'm an air breather.

Best sister ever.

With a softly squared toe and a snakeskin texture they're amazing. I have nothing to go with them, but they're amazing.

What does one wear with midnight blue knee high boots?

I think this is going to require more shopping and drinking.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Birthday shoes

It’s my birthday this month. Actually, it’s this week, in the next couple days. You can guess which one.

I totally haven't worn these except to take this picture. 
In hearing that news you’re probably already more excited about it than I am. Not because I’m all bah humbug about being a year older. I don’t actually care about being a year older. Armed with wrinkle creams, cases of makeup, yoga, hair dye, and a great hair stylist I’m not really afraid of age. (And when the time comes I won’t be afraid of Botox either).

I just never really get excited about birthdays. I stopped having birthday parties sometime in high school and never looked back. I don’t take the day off, or declare a whole week or month for myself when I expect to be treated special or given nice things simply because I managed to be born (which really wasn’t up to me) and not get myself killed up to this point.

But the day cannot go totally unrecognized, so the one thing I do every year for myself; shop.

Shocking, right?

I wore these once. They're festive. 
I think in years past I’ve bought shoes, but this year I am determined to buy clothes. Mostly because I need some of the new fall fashions and have two pairs of shoes in the closet I haven’t worn yet. Though the chances are still good that I’ll end up buying shoes in addition to whatever else I find.

My birthday also means I have to wear a cool pair of “birthday shoes.” They don’t necessarily need to be new, but I do like to dress up, and what better excuse than that. In discussing which shoes should be birthday shoes, a co-worker came up with the amazingly brilliant idea bringing a few different pairs of shoes and changing them every couple of hours.

Sounds like I need to find a suitcase to bring to work.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Office tested and Cat approved

I have a tendecy to become obsessed with the idea of something and then not resting until I get it. Then I find out it's not nearly as fantastic and amazing as I had hoped and it gets totally shelved.

Gray patent leather shoes, red pants, curduroy anything, that gold and black skirt that doesn't actually look good with my gold boots, various earrings and necklaces, and pretty much any dress I've ever bought fall into this category.

Why would cork shoes be any different?

I have blogged about my fascination since first seeing them at Stewart Weitzamn. Then I loved the height of Sam Edelman. I even posted them in the "Shoes I dream about" album on Facebook.

It's just as wonderful as I hoped. 
Thanks to DNA Footwear they're down now, and a photo of the real thing is moving over to the "My Shoes" album. And thanks to the fact that they really are as fabulous as I hoped, they're something I'll actually wear on a semi-regular basis.

Cork can act as neutral, which is really how I planned on wearing them. At least that's what I'm telling myself. I've also played dress up with them and decided they're bad with tan pants, good with skirts, and good with dark colors. They are also perfect for a variety of things I don't own, such as navy pants or skirt, a striped skirt I saw somewhere this summer and didn't buy and they probably also look nice with green, as well as a varety of patterns that my closet also lacks.

I really should start to focus more on clothes and less on shoes for a little while.

The other upside to these versatile shoes that go better in someone else's wardrobe; they're insanely comfortable.

Seriously. That sounds dumb but they are. They're also easy to walk in.

I wore them to work to test them out, which sounds easy because I sit at a desk, but my office is actually a rather perilious place to test stilletos.

First, it's a high rise, and I'm on the top floor. So there's an ear-popping elevator ride at 100 mph in heels, and then the walk up (and inevitably down) a set of slick marble stairs (because elevators stop one floor shy of the top floor), and carpet which is inexplicably lumpy and catches even people in flats, and tile, which is textured because apparently the office's designer and architect was male, and possibly an idiot.

The first day I wore them the whole day was wildly uneventful with the exception of the fact that I was unhappy with my choice of pants. The second day was a marathon of stairs, elevator rides, phone calls, yelling and running around. In heels, in a skirt.

I could have died. Instead I did just fine and didn't have any foot pain, tripping, sliding, falling or other shoe-related catastrophe. The only thing about them tht slowed me down was saying "thank you" to the compliments thrown my way by people as I passed them in the hall balancing stacks of papers and answering emails on my phone.

So they still have to go through the real world test, but if they can survive a day like that at the office without becoming a problem, they can definitly get me through dinner and a night on the town.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Little kids love Nine West

This weekend I went out to dinner with my husband a friend to catch up, have a few drinks and hang out.


Because I’m incapable of dressing down or bring casual, I was channeling Peg Bundy with a pair of Leopard print capri pants and a black halter top and black sandals.

They’re a classic pair of Nine West sandals with a buckle across the toe, three inch heel and ankle strap. I’ve had them forever, and every so often they get dragged out when I’m going somewhere that involves walking but still calls for a stiletto.

Like a summer dinner in the neighborhood.

A little girl loves these shoes. She has good taste. 
As we’re standing outside the restaurant, waiting to be seated, a mother passes by with a little girl in a stroller. She was probably about 2 or 3 years old, and as they approached she stuck her little arm out of the stroller, pointed at my shoes and screamed, “I love your shoes.”

As she got closer she said it again, and again. I laughed, exchanged a look with her mother that acknowledged we both knew she was in for trouble with this kid, and as she passed I said “Thank you.”

The girl looked at me and her face lit up and she laughed and turned to her mom. “Did you see her shoes?” she asked.

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because they were out of earshot, but I can only imagine. I’m sure her mom really wants her kid taking fashion cues from some real-life Peg Bundy.

My friend turned to me and said, “Did that little kid just compliment your shoes?”

“Yep.”

“That’s funny."

"Yep. I see the need for a large closet in that girl's future."

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Red is the color of soles

In what will probably become a long, drawn out court battle, today a judge ruled to deny a preliminary injunction on behalf of Christian Louboutin that would prevent Yves Saint Laurent from selling the red-soled shoes from its 2011 resort collection. (Read it here).

The YSL shoes in question. 
Bummer. 

The court did not feel that color is entitled to trademark protection in the fashion industry.

As much as people will bitch and complain about this, I am somewhat inclined to agree. How can someone in the fashion industry name one color that’s just for them? Betsey Johnson is synonymous with pink in my mind, just as Louboutin is red, but she doesn't own it. 

And once a designer names that color, is it a specific PMS color? What about the RGB codes? How do you keep the color the same on different materials? Is it all reds, or just one shade, and if it is just one shade, is it one that Christian Louboutin (or his company) mixed himself?

Still, Louboutin is known for the red soles, so it will act as a trademark no matter who makes red soled shoes. They can (and may) start popping up on all kinds of shoes, but there's something distinct about the Louboutin red sole, and the shoes themselves, that they're almost instantly recognizable.

And to that end it almost doesn't make sense for another company to even want to make a shoe with a red sole. Other shoe designers then run the risk of being mistaken for Louboutin and not recognized for their own designs, and lesser brands will be instantly recognized as copycats because expensive shoes are pretty damn easy to spot.

At the end of the day, no matter what the court decides, or what color your soles are, there's still nothing like a Louboutin. 

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Women in a (shoe)box?

People are always trying to explain behavior. Men try to understand women, women try to understand  men, women try to understand women. Apparently we can only be defined by gender stereotypes, even by our own gender.

Knowing how aggravating this whole concept is to me, my husband sent me an article from Cracked.com, "7 Female Behaviors that Baffle Men (Explained!)."

I'm so glad we can clear up all the goofy shit women do in 7 little bullet points. Because thousands of years of living with women, and men still haven't figured out things like why women take long to get ready, why our public bathrooms are gross, and why we smell nice. 

Did I mention this was written by a woman? 

I'm not sure where she's hanging out, but most women's restrooms aren't as bad as the men's because at least we don't pee on the floor, accidentally or on purpose. And not all women take long to get ready, and not all women smell nice. She obviously doesn't take public transit.

Inevitably, shoes were going to be on this list, and sure enough, #2, right above why we like having the toilet seat down (really, guys can't figure that out?) Why do women have so many shoes? 

If you have a collection like this it's not
because you have capri pants and skirts. 
The author first states that she can "wear the same brown Pumas all the damn time," which automatically tells me she probably has no right to be discussing shoe obsessions. Not all women are shoe whores, and that's fine. But I don't go around talking about cookware because I don't cook and I don't give a shit about pots and pans, so maybe someone who doesn't care about shoes shouldn't try to explain why women have so many pairs of shoes. 

She chalks it up to the fact that the second we change our outfit, we have to change our shoes. Different outfits go with different shoes. That's true. But if you really love your dumb, brown Pumas, just buy stuff that goes with them, and have the obligatory generic brown and black dress shoes rotting in the back of your closet like a dude. 

I have a veritable ass-ton of shoes, and it's got nothing to do with my clothes. I have shoes that don't even go with any clothes. They just sit in the closet and look pretty, rotting around and waiting for the day they'll be pulled out and paired with some random purchase that they were lucky enough to match. 

We're not all the same, and it's stupid ass articles like this that try to explain away all our behavior, justify our quirks, and put us all into the same silly little box. I for one will not have it. Because if I'm going to do dumb things, it's going to be for no explicable reason, and the only box I'll ever be part of is an amazing shoebox of my choosing, and I will choose them because they're pretty, not because they match a hemline.