roger me this

I'd been patiently waiting for the 17th of this month; an otherwise unremarkable day made ― oh ― just a little more remarkable with the launch of the Roger Vivier website.
*cue: Hallelujah Chorus*

You see, when we (women, and some men!) fall in utterly manic love with a pair of "shoes", more often than not, the shoes have "stiletto heels".

"All I want are high heels, high heels. If I was a girl, I'd wear a lot of high heels. High, stiletto heels." ~ Isaac Mizrahi
We glimpse a fabulously grand pair and our hearts beat faster, louder. The second we slip them on, the surge of endorphins transforms our very beings into glamourously chic superheroes. Never mind that an hour standing in our fave heels and they become the banes of our existences; we'll go through great lengths for these, the current objects of our desires!! We owe all our pleasurable shoe-induced frenzies to dear Monsieur Vivier.

After her smile, the second sexiest thing a woman can put on, really, is a pair of heels! ~ Yours truly.

I must have spent at least an hour on the RV webbie. My appreciation for Vivier's signature convex heel and buckle only swell, classic elegance. The couture shoes ― gloriously outrageous ― are to die for, natch. It gets better, I'm thoroughly tickled by the video diary (anchored by Ines de la Fressange, the brand's creative consultant). This first episode explores Paris' Indian Quarter. One shoppe sells lined notebooks like my sisters and I used in kindergarten and first grade whilst learning how to write!! A tad nostalgic. "[Les] carnets très anciens, vintage," she called them. I laughed at the 'vintage' part.

A little secret... My absolute desire for a pair of yellow pumps stems from my love of Roger Vivier's classic (yellow) ballet flats. I didn't find the pumps this season although I'm sure they've been made before and Bruno Frisoni could easily reproduce them. So, I'm biding my time.

Bisou. Bisou.

P.S. You have to watch Ines' video diary and listen for when she mimics an Indian (my most fave! ever!) accent "Mixed curry powder, very good indeed!". I l.o.v.e. it!! (It's about three-fifths into the video.)
P.P.S. Save your dirty thoughts re my title. Thanks. xx
Aren't these just gorg?!!!

chic simplicity life lesson #12: (expect) little treasures in the most unexpected of places

And this, darlings, is why Karl Lagerfeld rocks my world. A man through whom I'd be made whole by the merest caress of his intricately studded jacket, or gloves. So ummm... I'm terribly broke ― apparently there's a recession in my pants and I suspect it's got a fair bit of nothing to do with the price of rice in China. Yes, gibberish. But pants or not, I called my store... and that's all I'm going to say.

Precious lingering kisses.


B is for Bold and Berluti

Last Saturday evening, I defied the sudden onslaught of bone-chilling cold and headed to Neiman's to wish my fave Sales Associate, Bill, a happy birthday. I also figured I could pick up a dress I'd been eyeing, but that's not the point. Bill is a darling of a man.

A few bon mots with Bill and my new purchase neatly folded into my handbag, I thought I'd revel in my defiance and walk the one-stop-train-ride to the movie theatre. Only, I got there between showings and didn't feel like waiting, so I nipped in next door to my one of fave hotel-restaurants, Jer-ne, for her green salad and delish house-prepared vinaigrette. (Please don't flatter me, I'd been stuffing my face with fried foods all week. This was merely an intermission; okay, well I kinda felt sick with all the greasiness.)

Two seconds into sipping my ginger-ale, a man was settling into the table opposite mine. I looked up, and smiled mid-sip ― he was looking at me, I couldn't not smile!! My palate cleansed, I took a nice gulp of my Veuve. My new neighbor ― he couldn't have been less than fifty! ― switched seats, and leaning into my table and remarked on the seeming spectacle of my sandals (since it was getting cold outside?!); something of a compliment masked with a not so subtle curiosity. I was wearing a pair of thongs.
(Blasphemy! or not.) Please, I needed to enjoy my last moments exposing my toes. I explained my irreverent love for thong sandals even when common sense dictated otherwise.
He smiled.
I looked down at his shoes. Driving shoes. I commented on their uncomplicated reliability, and in his case, their nicely worn quality. He thought I was being smart. I wasn't. It was a compliment; but I suppose it didn't come out quite right. I attempted to clarify: I explained my passing knowledge of men's shoes gathered from my father's random pronouncements, "I won't buy another shoe for a very long time"1 "very durable" "Bally makes very good shoes!"2 "John Lobb is the oldest3 shoemaker in London, and the best!" Did I mention "very durable"?? etc etc. 

I mentioned my fave men's shoe house, Berluti, my inexplicable love for the calligraphed finish ― crude, and yet refined. The House prides itself on creating beautifully made shoes to be worn by the wearer for years, until the shoes take the very shape of the owner's feet, like a mold. Until, the shoes become worn out. Oooh, I just l.o.v.e. it.

I must have gone on and on. He chimed in, explaining a few details about men's shoes. 
We talked some more.

Some of my fave Berluti shoes...

He was an unexpected, but very companionable date.

After dinner, I thanked him and we parted ways with me smiling and thinking I really would love to shop for men's shoes. I'm bizarre, I know. I also thought,"Now I want, very terribly, these loafers (Chanel)!!" (I'd seen them earlier in the women's shoe dept.)

Salutations and kisses.

1. I think I may be able to count how many time I've seen my father buy shoes on one hand.
2. This, was in response to some shoes my father bought us, his gyrls (pre-teen) as school shoes. These were very sad tan-colored mary janes with flexible soles, the shoe could practically be rolled into a ball lengthwise!! Ahh.. dear dad.
3. I'm yet to figure out if the "oldest" part is true


trains of thought

I've disappointed you ― being away so long ― I know.
Well, getting on with it... (haha!)
Going through my unpublished archives, Stéphane Rolland's Fall/Winter couture collection set my heart aflutter all over again. It's the grand spectacle of it all; exaggerated trains trailing ― cascading ― in the wake of my sashaying hips. Yes, I've imagined myself in a few all of Rolland's dresses.

It was love at first sight with practically every piece, really. A number of critics decried, the proverbial gilded lily ― secretly, I wondered, "What's couture if not grandeur?!" It was a delightful prettiness ― Rolland's show; models dispatched with an edgy chic I find oh so alluring. Especially refreshing as one thinks of typical couture garb and maquillage, which, let's face it, celebrates an uglfied magnificence; strutting misfortunes ― the result of a cranky time-machine or designer. Oops. Ahh... I get it, 'twas too pretty for couture!! *tsk tsk*

Just as impressive, I think, are Rolland's sensibilities. You notice the merest hint of his earliest influences ― Balenciaga, and yet his designs are distinctively his. A decade ago, at the age of thirty, Rolland became the youngest couturier on l'avenue Montaigne. His clothes ― he ― makes me swoon. (He does look like a shaggier Olivier Lalanne.)

Kiss me.
Loads of fashionable love.
I need a nap. I haven't slept in twenty-four hours. Don't ask. (Partly to blame: insomnia.)

* One of my wedding dresses perhaps: Since I will be wearing four dresses on that day, whenever it will be. LOL. I'd love the skirt below my boobies though, an empire waist perhaps ― without making me look pregnant. I looove my boobies, we know this, so they can't be hidden. HA!! It could totally be the dress in which I dance the father-daughter dance. Yay!! I've also being thinking about a bodice and underskirt in Nigerian/African prints. Hot or what?!
** Ignore the lack of boobies. haha. I'd rather sport the dress with more covering from the upper waist. I don't like exposing my belly bottom for some unknown reason. It could be that I'm too old to do so. *giggles*