Manolo says, here to start the week off correctly, is the peep-toe platform pump from the Kate Spade. Simple, fun, and super fantastic, this shoe it is guaranteed to make you stand taller and feel better about having to go to the office.
Manolo says, the Eastern European mania for the high heel racing it has reached the West!
A 25-year old psychology student ran away with the first foot race down Berlin’s swish Kurfuerstendamm boulevard in stiletto high heels.
It took Nadine Sonnabend just 12 seconds to run the 100 metres (328 feet) on her seven centimetre-high heels (almost three inch), said the organisers of the Stiletto Run, which is being held as part of the Global Fashion Festival.
“I much prefer tennis,” admitted Nadine, as she walked off with her 10,000-euro (12,800-dollar) voucher to spend at Berlin’s most prestigious department store KaDeWe, admitting that she rarely wears high heels.
First Moscow, then Warsaw, und now Deutschland . The Manolo detects the trend, one that must be stopped.
Manolo says, ayyyyyy! There is the super fantatastic article about the shoes in this month’s edition of the National Geographic, entitled The Joy of Shoes!
Naturally, there are many pictures, but it is the writing that speaks most wonderfully to the Manolo. Here is the sample.
Olga Berluti loves men’s feet—a passion, not a fetish, she says. The passion began with her convent schooling in Italy. A long corridor led to the chapel and a 14th-century statue of Christ. “I would approach the altar,” she remembers. “The nailed feet of Christ were exactly on the same level as my eyes. I stared and stared. I said to myself: When I am older, I will remove the nails. I will relieve the suffering of men’s feet.”Berluti, small and slight with short black hair and eyes so dark they seem to be all pupil, does not seem tethered to the ground. She lives simply, does not eat meat and does not wear leather (”My life is flesh and blood already”). She wears only natural fibers—always white. On her feet: white cotton sneakers in summer, white wool shoes in winter. She is an ascetic in a universe of extravagance. “I sublimate myself. I suffer. I have spent my life at men’s feet,” says Olga, Our Lady of Shoes.
She speaks in Celtic rune and Delphic pronouncement. “Man is a vagabond deluxe. We are moving through to the perfection of gesture,” she says. So what if the utterances make little sense. We are talking mystique and shoes with the chiaroscuro of a Caravaggio. We are talking shoes with the sleek, menacing profile of a mako shark, shoes decorated with piercings, tattoos, sometimes scars. They are shoes, she says, for the hidden warrior inside every man. Shoes, also, for the man with four to twelve thousand dollars to spend on a made-to-order dream.
Her atelier, in an 18th-century building in Paris’s Marais, is a stage set. A shoemaker’s bench with rows of apothecary bottles sits in the corner. Do the bottles contain essence of sorrow? Tincture of pain? No, merely fragrant oils and dyes. The lasts—she calls them ex-votos—of Berluti’s famous clientele rest on low tables. There are lasts that belonged to Pablo Picasso (”We made his sandals”); Jean Cocteau (”He liked to wear shoes without socks”); Andy Warhol (”He asked for his right loafer to be patched—and be very visible”).
Once a year Olga Berluti invites clients to the Swann Club soiree, a black-tie affair, with champagne, not just to drink, but to clean shoes. “The alcohol makes them shine, but it must be chilled; it must be a very dry, a grand champagne.”
In Olga Berluti’s world, the relationship between man and shoe is complex. “Shoes adopt and tame you, and you adopt and tame them, like domesticating a wild animal,” she says. “You buy a pair of shoes you adore, but they are too edgy, too avant-garde. Perhaps your wife made you buy them. You put them away, and little by little this style, this color you’re not used to seeps in. You buy a jacket that goes with them, or a different color shirt. One day, you realize you have become the man your wife envisioned. The shoes revealed something new, something unexpected in you.”
The Manolo he has commented in the past about the divine Olga Berluti, whom the Manolo considers to be his kindred soul.
Speaking of the kindred souls, there is, of the course, the wonderful section about the Maestro Manolo Blahnik, whom your humble shoeblogger worships, and who can perfectly express why we who love the shoes love the shoes.
Still, it is pointed out, it is only a shoe.Blahnik nods. “Yes, only a shoe, but if I provide escape for the woman who wears it, if for only a few minutes, it brings a bit of happiness to someone, well, then, perhaps, it is something more than a shoe.”
It is so true.
Now, you must go to the website of the National Geographic and see this marvelous production.
Manolo says, the latest column of the Manolo it is now up at the Express of the Washington Post, however, you may also read it here below.
Dear Manolo:
I’m searching for a light blue shoe in size 10. I need something dressy, sexy and classy. Thank you.
Jocelynn
Manolo says, each week, the Manolo he receives many dozens of the e-mails from his friends asking the Manolo to help with their various shoe-based needs. There are the letters from the poor girls, the flat-feeted girls, the big-feeted girls, the lawyers and even from the police ladies, all asking the Manolo to assist them.Often these letters are filled with the heartrending detail about the shoes that cannot be worn, and the budgets that cannot be stretched. Occasionally, however, the Manolo gets the brief letter, such as the one above, which, because it is so brief, is most difficult to answer.
For the example, what is the occasion that requires the light blue shoe? Only the knowledge of the proper context can tell the Manolo if it is the dressy, sexy, classy shoe that is actually needed here, rather than the sexy, classy, dressy shoe, or the classy, dressy, sexy shoe, which are the very different things.
However, the Manolo he will still attempt to answer the question, and thus here is the Evonne from the Imagine by Vince Camuto. The dressy, sexy, classy shoe in the light blue color.
Manolo says, here is the historic photo from the Museum of the Salvatore Ferragamo.
Who knew the Ingrid Bergman had such the big Swedish feets. No wonder the Bogey had to stand on the apple crates.
Found at the wonderful Italian fashion blog: La Regole dell’Attrazione
Manolo says, the topic for the next Carnivale of the Couture it is now posted at the blog of the Coquette. Here is the topic:
As we look ahead to Fall season next month, what is one item of clothing you will miss in your Summer wardrobe and what is one item you are coveting for Fall?
This it is the very good question.
As for the Manolo, when the seasons change from the summer into the fall, the Manolo he will bid the fond adieu to his summer wardrobe, and he will say “hello old friend” to his fall wardrobe.
The Manolo, he is the passionate believer in the idea that everything has the season (turn, turn, turn). the autumn, and there is little that he will miss.
Manolo says, poor Alison, sent away for the crime of making her model look like the Ivanka Trump.
Yes, Alison’s outfit was the monstrosity, although it was certainly not worse than the terrible tinfoil fairy costume of the Kayne. But the Kayne with his stereotypically bitchy-flamboyant personality and the panicky Vincent, always on the verge of blowing the fuse, are “good television” and so the sweet and unoffensive, vanilla-flavored Allison was dumped. Do not worry, she is talented and nice and knows how to make the clothes, so she will be fine.
As for the top finishers, Michael, Jeffrey, and Laura, each was quite good, although once again, it was the Michael who stood out and deserved to win. His outfit it was beautiful and original and completely wearable, indeed it was the sort of thing that could be worn to the royal wedding…well, perhaps for one of the minor nobles, like one of Prince Michael’s childrens.
Likewise, Jeffrey proved himself to be the Master of the Trash with his marvelous and innovative dress. And where did that come from? To this point he has shown so little of the talent that this outfit seemed to be sui generis, as if it had emerged fully formed from his neck tattoo.
As for the Laura, Manolo is now convinced that this finish, third place, it is the best the Laura can hope for. Her dress was elegant, simple, and beautiful, but as always derivative. Yes, the dress was made out of the peanut sacks, but still we have seen this dress somewhere before. And this is the problem. She has impeccable taste, but her talent as the designer, it is to make beautiful tasteful objects that seem powerfully familiar. Because of this, she will be hard pressed to win the competition.
Of the course, the Laura, she is also turning out to be the prize bitch, one cannot keep her pie hole shut when she should. But because she is also very smart the Manolo believes that this behavior is partly calculated, but only partly.
As for the others: Robert appears to the Manolo to be sinking under the weight of his own despondency; Uli, the Little German Engine that Could, chugs along, able to make the flowing, shapless hippy dress even when given nothing more than the mound of shiny garbage; and Angela, meh. She needs to turn up the evil if she hopes to stay longer than her talent would justify.
Meanwhile, the returned Michael Kors continues to delight us with his scathing wit and catty bon mots. Indeed, the Manolo is now looking for the opportunity to work the phrase “looks like the paper brioche” into his everyday conversation.
And then there is Nina. Nina, Nina, Nina. So beautiful, so bitchy, so mean.
Nina, the Manolo feels this great and unaccountable affection for you. He would love to have the intimate lunch with you. The Manolo shall order the poached salmon and the green salad, you shall have the extra rare steak with the tumbler of scotch and the side order of bile. Such fun!
As for the guest judge, Rachel Zoe, all the Manolo can say is that she would have been the good choice last year, before she was over.
Manolo says, look the Manolo’s humble shoe blog it has been mentioned in passing in the article at the Cnet News about the Chicago Manual of Style going on the line.
More and more glossy monthlies have been making the big leap to the Web. And now, finally, is their bible of style.No, not fashion style; you can find plenty of glam gospel online, especially if you’re into offbeat journals like Manolo’s Shoe Blog. I’m referring to copy style. Spelling, citation, punctuation, hyphenation, jargon, libel–all the things nerdy editors like myself try to keep a close eye on.
Offbeat? Perhaps, after all, it is not the secret that what the Manolo does here is very different.
Manolo says, now here are the pair of the golden Chanel sandals that are very much worth the wearing.
