Archive for May, 2011|Monthly archive page

Easily suede…

In Uncategorized on May 20, 2011 at 9:17 am

So, not to put myself down, but I am relating to the ugly sisters of late. Except far from falling in love with a handsome prince and desperately cramming my feet into a mysterious shoe to snare him, I’m the mug who falls in love with a pair of shoes and spends my hard earned cash on them even though they don’t quite fit, and am destined to spend the rest of my life hoping one day they’ve stretched enough to fit.

They were only half a size too small,which in the grand scheme of things, you wouldn’t think would make that much difference, especially when I have other pairs the same size that do fit.

Of course the way I try shoes on doesn’t help. The process goes like this:

Draw shoe reverently out of box.

Gaze upon it, mouth half open in awe of its beauty. Rotate it and softly stroke the suede/leather/satin (delete as appropriate)

Visualise it on my foot. It looks lovely.

Take foot out of existing shoe. This is better if it’s first thing in the morning.

Gently place it into new shoe. Use more force if necessary.

Admire and announce: ‘Yay! I love them. I’ll take them!’

Note: At no point do I put foot on the ground – the soles are fine suede, I wouldn’t want to mark them.

You can see why I am so in love with them – look:


And therein lies the problem. Because the following evening when I put my gorgeous, uber soft Katia Lombardo suede sandals on with a little black dress for dinner, the searing pain that shot through both of my feet was really quite debilitating.  Not entirely unused to this, I went about my business, putting on my mascara etc etc, telling myself that they’d be fine by the time I set out.

Twenty minutes later, I took them off my angry purple crushed feet and put on an equally lovely pair, but lamented my misfortune.

Three weeks later, the shoes are still sat there, looking luxurious and lovely, stuffed to capacity with shoe-trees and tissue paper. I’m just hoping that my cobbler, with whom I’m on first-name terms – has some clever stretching piece of kit so I can debut them at Betty Blue Eyes next week.

Admit defeat? Not likely.

Admit I have fat feet? Never.


Not shoes for wallflowers

In fashion, shopping on May 16, 2011 at 8:18 pm

Last year for my birthday, my fabulous friend Karen bought me an amazing pair of shoes. I’d coveted them for ages but I’d exercised enormous self control because, beautiful and vibrant as they were, they simply weren’t practical. I had, quite literally for once, nothing to wear with them.

Brilliant citrus yellow satin, set with dazzling rhinestones, these Bourne shoes make spectrums of light dance around the room, bouncing off the ceilings, the walls, the tablecloths. These shoes are not made for shy and retiring feet, they are not shoes for wallflowers.

Bourne shoes - not for wallflowers

It took me seven months before I decided there was an occasion worth wearing them for – it had to be special and it had to be dry. My Dad’s 60th birthday lunch did the job. But what could I wear them with. I decided to go for the whole clashing colours thing and wore it with a vivid cerise Phase 8 dress, I’m not sure what went wrong but I kid you not, the dress literally came apart at the seams that day; I assume it was jealous of the compliments the shoes were getting.

So when I came across this equally vivid citrus yellow top in Ted Baker last week, I knew it was a match made in heaven. I have a friend’s hen weekend approaching and my dazzling shoes and my vibrant top will look great, whether I team them with white trousers or dark jeans.

Not so mellow yellow

Of course the fact that the fabric’s so sheer and the top’s so figure-hugging that a) I needed to invest in some very expensive cK Envy invisible lingerie to wear underneath (I must stress I don’t look like Zoe Saldana in it) and b) I’ll need to diet and work out every day for a fortnight is really by-the-by.

But when I do wear my ensemble, I shall feel like the biggest, brightest flower in the garden, and leave all the wallflowers in the shade.