The Manolo Week in Review
Manolo says, here is some of the week’s best writing from the Manolosphere
I hate sock monkeys. I hate them with a burning passion.
It all starts, as things do, with one small misstep, a minor oversight that unwinds balefully into tragic chorus.
I’m still amazed at the expectation that stress and misery are the primary emotions involved in wedding planning.
Francesca always tries to make sure that she has more than one white blouse in her closet.
Somehow it reminds me of a bed that the Dowager Duchess of Cornwall should be climbing into at night, demanding querulously that her servant place a warming brick at her feet, rather than a three year old.
Everytime Michelle Rodriguez hits the clubs and springs headlong into a vodka haze, she faces that age old dilemma of deciding between her two most trusted counsellors.
If plagiarism is a fashion crime, then the fashion detectives has better investigate this suspicious case.
Then there’s the Donald Trump, although why in the name of all that is holy you’d want your precious treasure to resemble that cotton-candy monstrosity of a comb-over I cannot imagine.
Let’s face it, it’s hard to dispel the “all big girls are desperate” myth when confronted with seventy three plus-size stewardesses inviting you to “fly the friendly thighs” in the span of a night
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