mr orwell.

Pleasantries.
And more pleasantries. *snickers*

I've been to London to see the Queen.

Speaking of, I'll get straight to the point, the stingray Orwells from Mr Hare in London (now available at Oki-ni and Dover St. mkt. Le sigh. Dover St!). I've been dying to write about these shoes; but, as my (paternal) grandma would say, "procrastination is the theft of time, and..." I'm just getting to it.


[A moment.]
I'm at a loss for words, really, to describe — adequately — how I feel about these shoes. First, my love for men's shoes is turning out to be something insane. The smile that forms in my eyes from glimpsing a most perfect pair arises somewhere deep inside me, a most visceral pleasurable ache. Painstakingly repressed, and thankfully too, my otherwise unbridled love affair for size enormous brogues and loafers causes me to pause at the men's dept. for unduly unbecoming amounts of time.¹

Mr Hare, the 'shoeist', as he calls himself — I respectfully offer a silent applaud — offers a bit of insight into his thinking when it comes to this shoe; as he does with all his pieces. Each shoe is named an alias, of sorts, so the Orwell is actually Mr. Orwell. Read it.

I wonder he didn't just name this pair (Mr.) Ordell...

"The line [When you absolutely, positively got to kill every motherfucker in the room. Accept no substitutes.] delivered by Samuel L Jackson as Ordell Robbie in the Tarrantino movie ‘Jackie Brown’ was the only sentence that came into my head every time I looked at the Orwell," he writes.

But, Orwell undoubtedly makes me think of the Animal Farm writer pen-named George Orwell, who was something of a democratic (revolutionary) socialist, if he was anything (other than a passionate writer). The possible irony. I imagine a man in these precious puppies running across a field of Lord knows what... *gasp!!*

He continues, "...Mr. Hare is of Jamaican decent and being such, my [Mr Hare's] night time shoes have always been top priority."
Of course, I'm immediately leaping to the conclusion that Jamaican men pride themselves in possessing fine pairs of dress shoes?! *slight, albeit ever reverential furrowing of the brows*
Really?
Really Mr Hare?? Forgive me, I can only imagine awful green and ochre-colored 'leathers' — and I use the word loosely — chosen — ditto! — to match the wearer's frightful summer suit! But then what do I know?! My perception stems from a rather vague recollection of scenes from "How Stella Got Her Groove Back" from another lifetime.²

But, all this is to say... I've summed it up quite nicely: All I want for Christmas to be on the arm of the man (naturally over 6'1, loves) sporting a pair of these shoes. Me in minimal clothing, naturally³, and what-would-be a revamped pair of this season's Balenciaga (slitted) booties (perhaps with the upper in matching stingray! umm yay!!) and the heel, a gleaming brownish steel materializing as part of the outer sole encasing bits of the rubber platform. I could make you a picture on illustrator and photoshop. I might try. Go over to at style.com and drool over this season's 'ciagas, I beg of you.





Double sugar kisses on each cheek and hugs.
It's been too long!!



Footnotes:
1. Occasionally, I've become an incongruous feature at the men's shoe dept. So of course, the sales people must make an already awkward situation just a tad more painful. "Would you like any help, Miss?" "Are you looking for a gift? For your boyfriend, perhaps?" I just need said bf to materialize and make an honest woman out of me as I continue to lie to these poor souls... "Why yes! I'm looking for something for my bf, I'll let you know if I need any help, thank you" How else could I explain my presence??
2. I've become a cynical, condescending American, when I am much better suited as an international woman of mystery. I must return to London ASAP!
3. I wouldn't want to detract from the lovely awesomeness of his/our shoes!!