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Showing posts from October, 2011

Horror in Heels

When I was in college I went to a haunted house. I also went to one in high school and one when I was in third grade. The whole experience was generally terrifying, and despite my love of horror movies and all things Halloween, I vowed to never go again. This year my husband tricked me into going in the name of family fun, and promised that if I survived we could go see the original Nightmare on Elm Street  (Johnny Depp in a half shirt), which was showing at a recently restored theater in the city. To my absolute horror I found out we weren’t going to some small little haunted house either. It was Dream Reapers , A big, scary haunted house with Yelp reviews and more actors than animatronics. The kind where people chase you through the parking lot because they think it’s funny to hear you scream and watch you run. The kind I had successfully spent years avoiding. Where's Freddy when you need him? When we got to the haunted house we stood in line, and I looked down at my

High Maintenance in Heels

Generally I am not a magazine person. I used to be, but that's when I was in high school and the Internet was all slow and dial up, and it took 20 minutes to load a page. Somehow I ended up on a mailing list for a couple magazines though. One about destination weddings (which I didn't have), one fitness magazine (I us it as a coaster for my vodka) and one fashion magazine. Believe it or not, I actually read the fitness and the fashion magazine, as if I'll somehow get prettier and have better abs through osmosis. Of course, then I run into an article that reminds me why I don't read fashion magazines. An article on the secret messages your outfit is sending men, sent me into a tizzy this weekend. Mostly because I don't give a shit what message my outfit sends (I dress for me, not some dude) and the advice therein was beyond stupid. Among the brilliant tidbits: Logos on your clothes mean you shop a lot (I always thought it meant you're totally uninspire

European shoe successes and failures

I wanted new shoes for a wedding I had to attend. New shoes to go with a new dress. I had the perfect shoe in mind to go with my scarlet, one shoulder cocktail dress. Black, closed toe, t-strap, moderate heel. And apparently not something that's been in style since the 1950s. My husband also needed shoes, so we went out and started hitting store after store around the city looking for my t-straps and his new dress shoes. He was being all picky about the dress shoes though, and basic black just wasn't what he wanted. His new shoes and my old ones.  Almost at the end of our search and resigning ourselves to wearing shoes we already owned, I coaxed my hubby into one more place. Figaro European Shoes, tucked just off the main road with sky high heels in the front window. He rolled his eyes as he walked in,  and then those eyes went wide. More than half the store was men's shoes, and they were unique. Super unique and ostentatious, loud as hell and totally his style.

The pain of beautiful shoes

Today an article about model's feet hit the Internet and made people all over want to gag.  What happens when models are in runway shows day after day, tromping around in heels, acting as human coat hangers for the newest fashions? Their feet look damaged, and probably hurt like hell.  My initial reaction was that it was awful, but once I thought about it a little, I decided it's really not that bad. Especially once you take all the various factors into account.  For one, models don't always get to wear shoes that fit. Sometimes they jam their feet into shoes that are too small, and sometimes they have to strap on shoes that are too big. In both cases they then have to walk like there's no problem.  Lucky for them those runways are usually pretty short.  Photo courtesy of So really, what are the big problems that heels cause when you spend Fashion Week walking runways? Runaway pinkie toes in strappy sandals, blisters, scratche

Who owns this bag?

I hate airport security. Not only is it inconvenient, and you have to take your shoes off, but I'm terrified of being searched. Which, given my frequent traveling and carry on luggage, periodically happens.  The suspicious bags and coat.  Today I get to thank LaGuardia for running my giant, hot pink bag through the x-ray machine so many times I think it may have cancer, and unpacking my carry on twice. Because the first time they weren't satisfied that my makeup bag was the offending object. Convinced there was still something hidden in the one compartment carry-on, they pulled out blazers, shoes, knee highs, panties, hair brushes and shoes twice. Of course this attracts attention, because everyone wants to know what kind of contraband the girl in the ruffled designer trench coat with a giant ruffled purse is carrying in her enormous, loud, pink bag. Turns out contact solution may have been the problem. Or a shoe, which security kept telling me she lov

Nike and the art of running

My bio notes that I own a pair of gym shoes, which I do. I'll admit to it. I even wear them sometimes, like when I workout. I don't like to discuss working out because it's generally gross, sweaty and leaves you an unattractive mess, but if you want to teeter around in giant freaking heels, you've got to lace up those sneakers and go for a damn run. Strong legs don't just show up and maintain themselves. Nike Chicago LunarGlide+3 a.k.a. my new motivation The problem I always run into (pun intended) is that I need some kind of motivation (aside from calorie burning), which is when I turn to shopping. Because a new pair of workout clothes that haven't been marred by sweat and hate can get your ass out on the pavement or in the gym. This weekend I was lucky enough to have motivation slap me in the face when I attended the launch of Nike 's new shoe, the Chicago LunarGlide+3 shoe at Akin . Chicago artist Tara D designed the Chicago version of the shoe