Recently in The Shoe Project Category
These are not what you'd generally think of as dancing shoes, are they?
Allow me a quick memory. When I was about six, someone bought me an umbrella that I absolutely adored. It had pink ribs and trim and was made of thick clear vinyl. A blond Cabbage Patch Kid was painted on the side, dressed in rain gear. Above her braided, behatted head were the words "Fowl Weather Friend."
Oh, how my mother hated that umbrella! I was just learning to read, and as much as I loved words even then, I didn't understand her objections. Then, as now, when my mother objects to something it is always strenuous and repetitive. Every time it rained, I ran to the closet, eager to take out my cherished umbrella, and every time she would snarl about how much she hated that god-damned piece of garbage.
"Who uses the word "foul" on something meant for a child!? And SPELLS it WRONG? It doesn't MEAN anything! Is it raining CHICKENS? It's chicken shit, is what it is..." I didn't care. I looked forward to the "fowl" weather, because it meant I got to carry that umbrella, so shiny, and pink, and wonderful. And I have generally been confused by "fowl" and "foul" ever since.
Now let's get to the happy refrain. These boots, Hunters, (no surprise, I'm sure, given my acute case of anglophilia), are definitely foul weather friends. In the same way that I loved the rain when I was six, these make me love the rain twenty-five years later.
They make me feel like Gene Kelly, twirling my umbrella, as I stomp with glee through the deepest nastiest New Yorkiest puddles (always avoiding the neon green ones, which I am certain are toxic and would eat right through my royally approved rubber.) The boots began developing that strange yellow patina soon after I got them, and I once tried to wash it off. Now I understand that they are meant to look like that- like ripe grapes, and I like it. I wear them with my Barbour jacket, and whistle, dancing, and singing in the rain.
I wish I had some sort of marvelous story of discovery about these- I feel like they deserve it. But frankly, I can't recall for the life of me where or when I got them. I am fairly sure they are vintage, and so likely date back to the Rivington Street Days. But getting more specific then that is like trying to remember the moment you first met your oldest friend. Was it a birthday party in the third grade? Or Girl Scouts? It's all lost to the mists. But dependability is not always romantic, nor should it be.
One thing I am certain of, is that when I found them I most certainly did NOT cry "Eureka!". I have a feeling they were not expensive, and I was drawn to pick them up by their bright, cheerful color. And, I probably took them home, and forgot them for a while. But this pair has become one of my best worn pairs of shoes.
Now, I don't particularly love pink, but these are a lovely, rich near-fuschia. I like to call them "Barbie" pink. And strangely, like the doll, they go with a lot more then you might think- perhaps because I wear a lot of black and grey. The pink is a nice pop against a neutral. But I've even worn them with a red top and a white pencil skirt, (daring in my own mind.)
They are also a great height. That flattering little kitten of a heel gives my legs a nice needed hit of length, without making me feel as if I might topple over at any time. I can, and do, run around all over the place in them- as you can see in the wear at the toe and the heel, and by the crackle in the leather. (They are probably on their third heel-cap.) The toe area is lovely, wide and flat, yet flattering, and the curve along the side is simply pretty.
I've worn them mostly in the summer, in the evening, to parties and dinners, and even to the movies. I've definitely also slipped them on during the day, just because they cheer me up. I'm always trying to wear them in the winter, but the thin sole means cold feet. Sometimes I do it anyway. They are perfect with jeans, skinny ankle'd or flared, black tights or bare legs. Whenever I despair of having the right thing to wear, these strange, pink pumps (are they even pumps?) set me back on the path to style happiness. They are one of a number of pairs I try on with an outfit I am undecided upon- to see if I can make some idea I had work. Often as not they are the ones that save me.
People often compliment me on them, which feels like someone telling you your pet is the cutest- you beam with pleasure at something you had almost nothing to do with. Your own good sense is not revealed until later, when the fluffy kitten grows up into a purry-sweet cat.
Here little shoes. Heeerrrreee sweet little shoe-y shoes. Come out, please? Psssss. Look. I've got a little treat for you...see these nice feet? They aren't going to hurt you, I promise....
In every woman's closet, that is- any woman who has more then the basic six pairs of shoes (daily work shoes- whether they are loafers, pumps or sneakers- exercise shoes, rain boots, flip-flops, sandals and the one pair she wears to whatever fancy occasion arises)- there are shoes that fall by the wayside. It is inevitable, is it not? (As for the six-shoed woman, we can not imagine that many exist. If they do, they are irritatingly practical, and not for us anyway, are they?)
Sometimes we set forth with the clearest shoe objective in our heads. Today we will get a pair of black boots, of the sort we have been yearning for, sharp and equestrian, or a pair of Uggs, because our feet are tired of being jealous and cold, even though our minds are firmly set against the idea.
At other times, we are impulsive. We are in France or Montauk or Tulum, and there, it seems charming to buy those (absurdly) overpriced espadrilles that will fall apart at the sight of water. No matter- for a week they were perfect- the shoe version of a postcard, or a sunburn.
Generally, we fall someplace between the two. We are poking around on a bright Saturday, wherever we live, and we come across something interesting, or on sale, or both. Sometimes it is something we realize, upon seeing, that we desperately need. But often, it is a pair of shoes we not only don't need, but we will probably almost never wear. We never know it at the time- we rush home, happy with our purchase, only to realize a point in the near future that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, in our clothes closet can be worn with such strange babies.
And then, after an initial period of trying them on with everything, we forget we bought them at all. Some of you will scoff, and say that you have returned yours, or sold them on Ebay, but I am sure, if you were to clean out your closet at this moment, there in the back, some place, would be a pair of shoes you never wear. I am particularly disgraceful in this regard, for I have many shoes I never wear.
May I present this particular example?
Aren't they charming, with their snub toes? And they have a small sweet heel, like the kind of YSL pump Catherine Deneuve wears in Belle De Jour. The tweed is nice- and totally in line with my personally rather preppy-edgy style. I like the brown suede trim at the edge, and the deer themselves are wacky in a fun, plastic way. I dislike the bow, but I haven't the heart or time to cut it off.
And, they are a tad big. Worst of all, they are fakers. That's right! For the first hour, they are disarmingly comfortable. And then they begin to rub and scrap, and blisters erupt in the strangest of places. They also look strange with jeans, and none of my current crop of black dresses go with them.They are too twee for me, I think. So I have forgotten them. For four years, they have crouched and cowered in the back of my closet, gazing at me with plastic eyed reproach, and so about once a year, I take them out for a day, only to relegate them almost immediately back to the deepest, darkest recesses of the shoe rack.
In every woman's closet, that is- any woman who has more then the basic six pairs of shoes (daily work shoes- whether they are loafers, pumps or sneakers- exercise shoes, rain boots, flip-flops, sandals and the one pair she wears to whatever fancy occasion arises)- there are shoes that fall by the wayside. It is inevitable, is it not? (As for the six-shoed woman, we can not imagine that many exist. If they do, they are irritatingly practical, and not for us anyway, are they?)
Sometimes we set forth with the clearest shoe objective in our heads. Today we will get a pair of black boots, of the sort we have been yearning for, sharp and equestrian, or a pair of Uggs, because our feet are tired of being jealous and cold, even though our minds are firmly set against the idea.
At other times, we are impulsive. We are in France or Montauk or Tulum, and there, it seems charming to buy those (absurdly) overpriced espadrilles that will fall apart at the sight of water. No matter- for a week they were perfect- the shoe version of a postcard, or a sunburn.
Generally, we fall someplace between the two. We are poking around on a bright Saturday, wherever we live, and we come across something interesting, or on sale, or both. Sometimes it is something we realize, upon seeing, that we desperately need. But often, it is a pair of shoes we not only don't need, but we will probably almost never wear. We never know it at the time- we rush home, happy with our purchase, only to realize a point in the near future that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, in our clothes closet can be worn with such strange babies.
And then, after an initial period of trying them on with everything, we forget we bought them at all. Some of you will scoff, and say that you have returned yours, or sold them on Ebay, but I am sure, if you were to clean out your closet at this moment, there in the back, some place, would be a pair of shoes you never wear. I am particularly disgraceful in this regard, for I have many shoes I never wear.
May I present this particular example?
Aren't they charming, with their snub toes? And they have a small sweet heel, like the kind of YSL pump Catherine Deneuve wears in Belle De Jour. The tweed is nice- and totally in line with my personally rather preppy-edgy style. I like the brown suede trim at the edge, and the deer themselves are wacky in a fun, plastic way. I dislike the bow, but I haven't the heart or time to cut it off.
And, they are a tad big. Worst of all, they are fakers. That's right! For the first hour, they are disarmingly comfortable. And then they begin to rub and scrap, and blisters erupt in the strangest of places. They also look strange with jeans, and none of my current crop of black dresses go with them.They are too twee for me, I think. So I have forgotten them. For four years, they have crouched and cowered in the back of my closet, gazing at me with plastic eyed reproach, and so about once a year, I take them out for a day, only to relegate them almost immediately back to the deepest, darkest recesses of the shoe rack.
We all have dreams about the way we want things to be. Whether it's our
careers, our love lives, or yes, even our shoes. Maybe it's not JUST
shoes, but our whole appearance, of which shoes are part and parcel.
And that is as important as any other dream, is it not? Just as we want
to work our best, and love our best, we should also often strive to
look our best, for our better inside feelings, if nothing else. (Just
today I went to the dentist in a long, black, leather-belted cashmere dress coat, for no other reason that
it is not nice out, going to the dentist is as mundane as it gets, and
the coat was a nice balm for my soul.)
I had a dream about a pair of shoes once, a fantasy almost. I always think a fantasy is a dream that you really want to come true but probably never will. When a fantasy comes to life, it's magic. (Well, hopefully. Sometimes I imagine a fantasy come true could be a let down, if not an all out disaster. But that is hardly the point here...)
The shoe of my dream was black, and I guess what one might call a sort of sandal. The heel was very high, but not skinny. Indeed, the heel was thick, but not TOO thick- there was no hint of clunkiness in my mind's eye. There was a small bit of detail, but nothing outrageous- a chaste silver buckle at the side perhaps. The shoes were both serious and fun, a difficult thing to pull off. They were the sort of shoes that a girl could actually traipse around in day or night, if one ever felt like traipsing. I, for one, often hope that I am the sort that could pull off traipsing. In these phantasmorgial shoes, I was indeed a traipser, but certainly not a prancer. (Prancing, I think, is for the sort of ladies who claim to have slept with Tiger Woods.)
At any rate, during the period where the dream of this particular shoe was happening on a recurring basis, I was flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine- most likely Vogue, most likely at an airport, though I can't recall- and I spotted my actual fantasy shoes in an ad. If you've ever read any of my shoe blog before, you can probably bet it was a Prada ad, of course. It was. I was pleased to realized that the shoes even existed, to be honest. Their presence in the world was a comfort- both to know that my at-that-moment perfect shoes were out there, and that someone had thought to design them, much less Miuccia herself. I stared for a moment, and flipped on, to read Jeffrey Steingarten probably.
Months later, at the Jefferey sale, I was confronted with the reality of them. There they were! And they were just as perfect in real life, as in the dream and in the ad. The leather was even the right kind of soft. It felt ordained. Of course I had to get them! They were my fantasy shoes! And, honestly, they are still one of my favorite pairs of shoes. I wear them every chance I get- not daily, no, but biweekly in the summer, definitely. I yearn to wear them with tights in the winter. And they are comfortable as heels that high can be! Finding them again in the spring is always a joy and a relief, like having coffee with an old friend you don't get to see often. The initial happiness of seeing them in person, is followed by relief that you still like each other, and indeed, enjoy each others company.
But my fantasy has moved on, to a sort of ankle boot, with a platform, in grey suede. I thought I saw them once, in real life, but I think it might have been in a dream.
I had a dream about a pair of shoes once, a fantasy almost. I always think a fantasy is a dream that you really want to come true but probably never will. When a fantasy comes to life, it's magic. (Well, hopefully. Sometimes I imagine a fantasy come true could be a let down, if not an all out disaster. But that is hardly the point here...)
The shoe of my dream was black, and I guess what one might call a sort of sandal. The heel was very high, but not skinny. Indeed, the heel was thick, but not TOO thick- there was no hint of clunkiness in my mind's eye. There was a small bit of detail, but nothing outrageous- a chaste silver buckle at the side perhaps. The shoes were both serious and fun, a difficult thing to pull off. They were the sort of shoes that a girl could actually traipse around in day or night, if one ever felt like traipsing. I, for one, often hope that I am the sort that could pull off traipsing. In these phantasmorgial shoes, I was indeed a traipser, but certainly not a prancer. (Prancing, I think, is for the sort of ladies who claim to have slept with Tiger Woods.)
At any rate, during the period where the dream of this particular shoe was happening on a recurring basis, I was flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine- most likely Vogue, most likely at an airport, though I can't recall- and I spotted my actual fantasy shoes in an ad. If you've ever read any of my shoe blog before, you can probably bet it was a Prada ad, of course. It was. I was pleased to realized that the shoes even existed, to be honest. Their presence in the world was a comfort- both to know that my at-that-moment perfect shoes were out there, and that someone had thought to design them, much less Miuccia herself. I stared for a moment, and flipped on, to read Jeffrey Steingarten probably.
Months later, at the Jefferey sale, I was confronted with the reality of them. There they were! And they were just as perfect in real life, as in the dream and in the ad. The leather was even the right kind of soft. It felt ordained. Of course I had to get them! They were my fantasy shoes! And, honestly, they are still one of my favorite pairs of shoes. I wear them every chance I get- not daily, no, but biweekly in the summer, definitely. I yearn to wear them with tights in the winter. And they are comfortable as heels that high can be! Finding them again in the spring is always a joy and a relief, like having coffee with an old friend you don't get to see often. The initial happiness of seeing them in person, is followed by relief that you still like each other, and indeed, enjoy each others company.
But my fantasy has moved on, to a sort of ankle boot, with a platform, in grey suede. I thought I saw them once, in real life, but I think it might have been in a dream.
Of course, the new air has me dreaming of fall and fall clothes. Every magazine is touting their new fall fashion issues, and with them come the usual proclamations: "The Little Black Dress is Back!" "The NEW Gilded Age" (cause, like last year, it wasn't the gilded age.) "Forty Looks for Forty Bucks" blah blah. The forecasting I can do without.
Instead, my need for new fall gear, comes, I think, from deep within my reptilian memory. Going-back-to-school shopping was a ritual initially detested, then dreaded, and finally enjoyed, though my mother and I would fight about what was appropriate. (And sometimes SHE was the misguided one, letting me get ridiculously sophisticated clothes that I insisted I needed, and then never wore again, after getting mocked by my peers. A suit comes to mind. Like the kind secretaries wear to work. Fall, '93.)
These shoes fit my fall mood perfectly. I bought them several months ago, but they aren't very summer, are they? They are womanly, as opposed to carefree and girly, but I wouldn't call them serious or old either. The round toe, high high heels and the black soles are too subtly playful for that. I like to think of them as the Sophia Loren of shoes: Cool without trying at all, smart, Italian, and round in all the right places. They'll look great with anything, and everything, or nothing at all.
These have no story yet; they are too new. And they are too simple to come with anything built in; they don't look like refugees from a disco on Ibiza, nor are they self-possessed, black, red-soled socialites-in-training. I admit that they aren't as interesting as say, Pair #20- but someday, if I wear them as much as I expect to, they will be. They'll get scratched and worn, and look as though they need the shoe version of Botox. Their shine will fade from a spotless glisten to a dull sheen. But they'll have lived- and that's all we can really ask of our shoes, isn't it?
The end of the year is upon us, and it is time to look back and remember those who are no longer with us. I have few regrets in life, but these three will alway occupy a special place in my heart.
Pair #21- Black Gucci Loafers (2000-2003)
I bought you in the summer of 2000 at the outlets in Woodbury Commons. You were the second pair of truly designer shoes I had ever had, and the fact that you were Gucci made you even more special.Tom Ford was at the height of his powers, yet you bore no relation to his sexy, sharp-toed designs. You were heavy, shiny, black and all business. Penny loafers for grown ups. But I was no grown up. In retaliation for my immaturity -I think I tried to wear you with capris!- you gave me some of the worst blisters I have ever had. I tried very hard to fill your indomitable needs, pairing you with jeans, and even pencil skirts, but it was not to be. You sat angrily in my closet for another three years, until I finally worked up the courage to rid myself of your tyranny.
Pair #22- Red Bettye Muller Wedgies (2001-2002)
Oh how chic you were, narrow little red wedgies with sexy little straps. You criss-crossed my feet, and wrapped yourselves around my ankles. I still think so fondly of you-occasionally I even miss you. Yet you managed something I have never experienced in any other shoe- you were at once too big and too small. Is it possible? Yes, it is. I have very narrow feet, but the sides of my soles rubbed against your sides, as you dug into the bottom of my feet. You were too thin even for me. And those sexy straps bit into my toes with teeth like a piranha's. Yet I could never get the ankle strap to stay put! It rubbed and rubbed, and fell down, and fell off. I would put you on, and stand in front of the mirror, admiring how good we looked together. I would tell myself that I had finally broken you in; I was delusional, let's face it. The second we stepped onto the street, you would be back to your old tricks, trying your best to get the fuck off my foot.
Pair #23- Black Miu Miu Wedges (1998-2005?)
Ok, you are truly one of my great regrets. Even though you were never really wearable, I hope still that I may find you hidden deep in storage. I bought you during my semester abroad, in Florence. You were inexpensive (Italy was still on the marvelous Lira then, and being American meant having some spending power.) You were also on sale. You were a deal, but that does not mean you were practical. You had thick, utilitarian, black, physically heavy rubber wedges, probably six inches high. Perversely, you had playful, girlishly thin straps, which could never truly hold the heavy soles to my feet. My favorite bit? The off-white insoles, with the red Miu-Miu stamp, that could be glimpsed as I stepped down the street, leaving my shoes behind, despite the straps.
I tramped through Rome in you, and London, and then back to Madison, (whose weather never really understood you.) I moved to New York with you. You were not in the style of the time, but I stuck with you- I loved you. But eventually, you were on the opposite side of the style pendulum; you were not a pointy stiletto, or a sweet flat. You were still your own thing, but I was not smart enough to recognize that anymore. I betrayed you by not realizing you could only be what you were. I finally, heartlessly, got rid of you. To my every lasting regret- because you would be perfect for right now. But I'd still leave you behind.
(Ed. Note- We originally shot Mademoiselle in her native France. She later asked us not to publish those pictures as she was too vulnerable at the time. We have agreed to her wishes. It was the only way she would grant us an interview.)"You think that because I am beautiful, life is simple for me? You are mistaken. No great beauty is pure. We are sullied by the very dirt we tread upon. For beauty to be truly magnificent it must cause pain. Do you dare to disagree with me? Madame Bovary. Anna Karenina. Gia. They are the fallen idols of my world. I am as one of them. My rich suede darkens with mud. My scalloped edges collapse in the rain. I am a thing of perfect and transient splendor."
I know you want to scoff. But sometimes you see something or someone and love bangs you over the head with a frying pan. Maybe my maternal instinct was kicking in. The venue for my grand gesture was a department store. I had gone along as a wingman for my sister. It was her birthday so she was entitled to something special. My total raison d'etre was to help her pick out one great thing. These were brought over for her. Her verdict: too weird. She had already met her match: a pair of patent leather tortoise shells. They fit like a soldier and girl at a USO dance.Playing around, I slipped them on. The upper felt soft as a slipper. The high high high wedge felt solid and sturdy; shoes made for tramping, not tottering. I loved them the moment I put them on. It's a little bit of a case of beauty and the beast. They are rather ugly, like a strange Victorian anomaly, yet they are also demure and delicate. I didn't know what to do with them, so I held them. A woman came by with a fawning salesman. She peered down."I want THOSE!" She pointed at me. I cradled the shoes in my lap protectively. "Oh! I am afraid they are the last in the store! We may have a pair in black..." He nearly wept, for her glare was piercing."No! Brown! I don't NEED black!" She hissed violently. It all made sense to me. These shoes needed rescuing. They were orphans. Rich, yet needy. Well dear reader, here they are at home, resting comfortably. They are eager to get out and see the world, but like any orphan, also happy to have found a good home. The other shoes have taken them into their bosoms; the Miu Miu flats especially like them, and their fellow Louboutins have been very gracious, sharing their space in the shoe rack.
Please forgive the pun. I just couldn't resist!
I was rummaging through my closet, trying to decide who to shoot next, when I came across these beat up old blue Vans. I think I have probably worn these more then all the other shoes that have been on this blog so far, combined.
They have gotten me through some interesting times. They were my faithful, and comfortable, companions on a movie set. They've been soaked, pee'd on, soaked again, and dried out in the sun, while fishing for stripers and blues off of Montauk. I can't count how many times they've flown to California and back. They are like a really good friend you don't appreciate enough. Always there for you, even when you don't realize it.
These shoes are a simple pleasure. Good looking, inexpensive, easy to wear. They are really ragged now, but their faded blue looks better then ever to me. I still wear them, without even thinking about it.
