Monday, 19 April 2010

In which shoes are discussed

I am back in Belgium, having escaped from Alcatraz, spent a few blissful hours pervily stroking shoes on and around Oxford Street, braved the ash-maddened hordes on the Eurostar and drunk alcohol solidly at every opportunity from Friday evening onwards (numerous, happily). It is late and I have both eaten and drunk too much. All I can do is talk about shoes. Gentlemen, all 3.7 of you may wish to click away now. Anyone else who is indifferent to shoes might prefer to do something else with the next five minutes too. Actually, why don't you all just go and I'll talk to myself? I don't think tonight will unduly trouble the Pulitzer prize committee.

I spent nearly an hour circling the Selfridges shoe department. This is actually not typical behaviour for me, I usually buy online, money spent without interacting with another human barely counting at all. I'm not quite sure what came over me, possibly Mr Trefusis saying the shoes I was wearing were "very eighties" or the sight of my pasty, flaking ankles in the blissful sunshine, or M trying to discourage me from buying Serge Lutens Persil flavour scent with talk of shoes, but suddenly I was overcome with shoe inadequacy and could think of nothing else. I went with the intention of buying something cheap (I can hear several of my friends laughing from a distance of hundreds of miles as I type that).


Lots of stuff was hideous. Clunky, but not in an honest to goodness, shin kicking way. The Louboutin concession - although not hideous, rather a bit dull - filled me with Jean-Paul Sartre-esque despondency. So many people queueing up to drop £500 on painfully high heels, lots of them (and this perhaps the fault of the buyers rather than Mr Louboutin, may his twinkly toes be blessed for all eternity) a bit bof (avec tout le respect que je vous dois, M Louboutin).

There were a few pairs of the most magnificent Vionnet shoes. I can't find a picture online of the ones I kept coming back to. They were much nicer than any of these ones but they give you a vague idea. The best thing about Vionnet is the designer's name: Rodolpho Paglialunga. I mean, come on. If there's a better name out there, I want to know about it. Here he is looking like he has misplaced his vestments on the Vatican Sexy Priests calendar:

Frustratingly I can't find a picture of the Lanvin platforms I fell in love with either but they were two tone nude, properly stompy and had beautiful soles. If I had £460 down the back of the sofa, that's where it would be going.

With all possible respect, Kurt Geiger, what the FUCK do you think you are doing selling own label shoes for 360 quid??? That nice Mr Ferragamo round the corner 'only' charges £260. Get a grip. And while I'm chastising, Marc Jacobs you are a wonderfully clever and handsome man and you like fancy dress and Spongebob. I have nothing but love for you. But get the fuck over the shoes with faces already. If I wanted a pet, I would get a pet (Oh yes, I already have, that's going brilliantly, ahem). If I want shoes, I get shoes (in a moment of inattention from the overlords at HSBC). I do not want 'fun' ballet flats with the face of mice and nor does anyone sane above the age of 11. NO.

Rupert Sanderson, keep up the solid good work. I love you, your weakness for asymmetry and your loyalty to patent. I am willing to overlook your friendship with Sam Cam, which, given that it is election season, is very good of me.

There is a very good sale on at the Poste Mistress designer bit of Office at the moment if all this shoe talk is putting you in the mood.

I have to make a hideously complex Australian Womens Weekly birthday cake tonight in the shape of an island, my annual act of charity towards a colleague who hates baking. I wonder what my oven, the 'Competence Trophy' will come up with, it is unlikely to be anything good. Moreover, I have been disastrously accident prone in the last 24 hours and anything that could be dropped, spilled or broken has been. This fills me with foreboding. Amusingly the cake is supposed to have a volcano made from an ice cream cone on the corner, so I find myself wondering how I could make a gigantic ash cloud to hover over it. Candy floss perhaps?


Margarita said...

Shoes are not having a good moment. Except for all those priced over 500 pounds.

RachieGraham said...

Persil - washing powder, or persil parsley? Either way... Hmmmm

That's Not My Age said...

Agree with you, the Marc Jacobs mouse shoes (or whatever small mammal that's supposed to be) are hideous.

M. said...

MMMMMMMMMMMM shooooooooooooooooes.

frau antje said...

Bits of cotton stuffed in chicken wire. That's for an ash cloud not a shoe, but the glacier...

Julia @ British Bride said...

HA HA - I know what you mean about stroking shoes! Did you know you blog was mentioned in this month's RED magazine?

I thought I would come check you out!
Check out my new blog-

KateUnderground said...

Haha, I work across the corridor from the Australian Women's Weekly test kitchen! They get all those cakes from the bakery down the road, don't worry about it.

Anonymous said...

That's the one thing that I really miss about not working in an office, the opportunity to wear lovely heel highs all day.

I seem to shuffle around the house and garden in flat shoes in varying states of decreptitude.

I am jealous of your shoe-stroking. However, even if I had £500 spare I'd much rather spend it one something other than a pair of shoes.

If I scuffed the toes of a £500 pair of shoes, I'd fling myself under a bus.

Leaving the shoes on the pavement, obviously.

Ali x

Soda and Candy said...

Ooh the volcano ash could be like, spun sugar! Fairy floss is probably easier though and won't give you 3rd degree burns.

Also, mmm shoes.

Metropolitan Mum said...

I am with anonymous on missing occasions to wear proper shoes. I actually own decent shoes. They are all neatly and nicely stowed away in the cupboard, whilst I trotter around in my have-seen-better-days Converse.

And for the cake: you could drill a hole into the plate through the cake and through the table you want to place the cake on, have a seat underneath and blow some cigarette smoke through the hole. (Only trying to be helpful...)

Alison Cross said...

Forgot to mention my solutions for your ash issue - it *has* to be the contents of a Sherbet Dibdab (Dipdap?)blown up through the centre funnel of the cake or else a sherbet fountain.....

Looks just like ash and scours off jet airliner paintwork EXACTLY like the real thing ;-)

Ali x

Lisa-Marie said...

White candyfloss with a bit of black food colouring in?

Also, I just bought two pairs of shoes from office thanks to your link. I will get post, and it will be shiny, shiny shoes!!

Em said...

the internet ate my first comment. and all i wanted to say was i like cake and shoes.

Ladybird said...

Louboutins used to be lovely before they got all ridicolously high. Maybe I got old? Dunno but I find them really uncomfortable now but a pair I bought in 2006 are still great and I can wear them all day. I veer between Chanel No 19 and Serge Lutens Bas de Soie, maybe it does smell like Persil though.......still.....better than dog pooh.

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ghada sayed said...

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ghada sayed said...

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شركه الهدى
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