Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
Thanks to the onrush of time, I’ve decided, Hillary-like, that henceforth I must begin to cover my legs. Unlike Hillary, however, I have decided that the maxi-dress, not the pantsuit, is to be my concealer of choice. I’ve found one I really like from J. Crew, a sort of draped, Grecian number in a color they call “abyss blue”. Please suggest some fantastic sandals to go with it.
Manolo says, whenever one of the Posse Manolo announces that she will henceforth, forever and the day, be covering her legs, the Manolo has two thoughts.
The first is that the Manolo wishes more middle-aged men would cover their legs, not middle-aged women.
Every spring the sudden appearance of the knobby man knees below the khaki shorts makes the Manolo pine for the fashions of Victorian England. (And this is before considering the toe-based destruction wrought by those in “mandals”.)
Secondly, the Manolo laments the demise of the pantyhose. Yes, it is wonderful we live in the age of freedom and inappropriate casualness, where everyone is able to wander about in sweat pants and tube tops.
Sadly, however, it is the ladies of the certain age who have paid the price for these relaxed standards. When your grandmother discovered she had the spider veins and the tiny belly bulge, she simply changed her hosiery color from “nude” to “opaque”, and cinched up her girdle one more notch. Problem solved just in time for canasta!
Look! Here is the Kula from Diane von Furstenberg, the golden Greek sandal that will leave you looking like Aphrodite.