Manolo says, here are the few links which may perhaps amuse…

At last count, Ms. Brown, an engineer, has more than 500 pairs, including a big collection of boots. She has turned a small bedroom in her home into a combination exercise room and shoe closet.

And a spasm of pure rage passed through me. Who was this fat bastard to tell women that they were obese if they couldn’t fit into a size 10? To make clothes that half the population couldn’t wear?

“There’s not a single woman who would not dream of embracing and kissing Vladimir Vladimirovich and hearing his declaration of love.”

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk and mightily ungruntled.

Indeed, it may be said that now is the summer of your discontent, made gloomy winter by that son of the so-and-so, whom you have been dating for this past month.

Oh, it all started out well enough; him tall, moderately handsome, tanned, and somewhat hairy in that outdoorsy way that makes dirty cargo shorts and Keen sandals seem sexy, especially when you are standing behind them in the Whole Foods Market.

Next thing you know, you are at the coffee shop lying about your politics and discussing the relative merits of recumbent bicycles with him over tall glasses of iced chai.

And for the first week everything goes swimmingly, even if the thought of tofu-vegetarian lasagna makes you gag, and you frequently worry that he might detect the scent of your usual lunch ( cheesesteak, “Whiz, wit“) lurking beneath your body spray.

By the end of the second week, however, you have discovered the awful truth, that his low-impact, ecologically friendly lifestyle is actually camouflage for the deep and abiding parsimoniousness; the pinchpenny cheapness so mean that he has never bought salt, sugar, ketchup, or mustard for home use, relying instead on the giant cache of pilfered condiment packets which reside in his cabinets, ever ready to season his “famous” lentil stew.

At first you think this trait is funny, because his eyes have this unusual purpley-blue color that reminds you of mountain lupin, and fogs your better judgment. But then, this past Friday, you realized that not only had you gone Dutch so often that you could apply to Amsterdam for citizenship, but that he had the bad habit of “forgetting” his wallet at home.

Even this would not be so awful, except that he was also, at the same time, revealed as the sanctimonious bore, forever going on about “out of control American consumerism”, (although when you mentioned Thorstein Veblen, whom you find terribly amusing, his lupin-blue eyes went blank with incomprehension).

But it was on Saturday, while he was ranting away about the “malign influence of fashion”, that you finally snapped, and told him exactly how much your Jimmy Choo sandals cost–”More than you’ve spent on personal hygiene products in a decade, Tofurky Boy.”– which left him gibbering in amazement and spluttering in anger.

Okay, so perhaps that was uncalled for, even if it did make you feel immediately better.

And now it is Monday and you are consumed with remorse for the three-and-the-half weeks you wasted on this crunchy loser and his skinflint ways.

But then you remember that nothing washes away the bitter taste of romantic disappointment like shoes, beautiful and riveting shoes, like these simple summery, golden Linea Rossi Sport sandals from Prada.

Manolo says, the Manolo knew that it was only the matter of time until the Eastern European sport of stiletto racing arrived in America.

Happily, it is for the good cause, as Regis and Kelly and Dr. Scholls will be sponsoring the big race in New York City to benefit the March of Dimes. And you can keep your zlotys and rubles and euros, as the top prize is $25,000 of the American dollars!

Manolo says, the Manolo finds it difficult to believe that this display of gigantic shoes is not located in China

Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.

Dear Manolo,

My banker boyfriend and I are going to Newport, Rhode Island, for a long Fourth of July weekend with some people from his work. We’re supposed to be boating in the afternoons, and going out on the town in the evenings. Please help.

Jenny

Manolo says, the Manolo hopes that his friend was not asking the Manolo to find the single shoe suitable for both daytime and evening activities, some sort of strappy, high-heeled, rubber-soled, deck shoe, perhaps.

Better the Manolo thinks, to purchase the decent blue canvas boat shoes to go with your Jackie-O, casual nautical outfit, and then expend your efforts on locating the perfectly gorgeous evening sandals for your disco nights.

As his friend will presumably be consorting with the WASPy old-money panjandrums of Newport, who together with their arriviste new money hangers-on and barely-titled European sycophants comprise the peculiar ecosystem of that region, she will want to be beautiful and stylish so as to subdue the restless natives.

The Manolo recommends something tall and metallic like this beautiful Sara T-Strap Sandal from Christin Michaels in the color known as “gunmetal”.

Manolo asked, whose shoes?

Manolo answers, it is the Joan Rivers!

Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend Blackbird who was the first to identify the always outrageous and overly botoxed Ms. Rivers.

Manolo says, Sao Paolo Fashion Week, catch the full-body fever!

Manolo says, the wise in the ways of the world Mr. Henry opines about the joys of white balsamic vinegar.

Manolo asks, whose shoes?

Manolo says, otherwise it would take hours to get into and out of these very costly, old-school Dolce & Gabanna gladiator sandals.

Yes, they may not be the most subtle expression of the Neo-Classical trend, but they are not entirely without their artless charm.

Manolo says, it it Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is…

Reading…

Watching…

Listening to…

Manolo says, one of the Manolo’s archivist-historian friends sends the Manolo the following request.

Dear Manolo,

I was kidding my assistant Paul that our interns this summer were wearing white socks with dark shoes.

He replied, “Oh, who do you think you are, The Manolo!”

I’d appreciate it if The Manolo could send Paul a note explaining to him that good footwear needs appropriate hosiery.

The Manolo reminds Paul (and you) that there is only one time when the white socks are acceptable with dark dress shoes….

When you are pretending to be Michael Jackson.