Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
A junior diplomat of my acquaintance has invited me to the French Embassy for a Bastille Day party. It’s an evening affair with dinner and dancing, so I’m wearing a long, strapless, cerulean blue, chiffon dress. I’m also considering wearing red shoes and a white shawl in honor of the French tricolore. Please advise.
Manolo says, how marvelous to be celebrating liberté, égalité, fraternité in this most exclusive of settings, with the French bureaucrats and their dates stuffing themselves with frog legs and snails and the insouciant little Burgundy, and then shaking their euro-booties to Johnny Hallyday’s latest smash hit.
Vive le rock ‘n’ roll, indeed!
Unfortunately, the Manolo must advise against adorning oneself in the colors of the French flag. Leave such sartorial symbolism to Marianne in her Phrygian cap and tricolor cockade. (Undoubtedly, she will put in the brief appearance near the end of the evening, hoisting the drapeau tricolore aloft and leading the tipsy masses in the rousing version of the Marseillaise… Aux armes, citoyens! May the impure blood of the aristocrats water our furrows!)
You, on the other hand, must look your absolute best, and be on your best behavior, so that your companion is not publically shamed, the consequences of which may be best expressed by the phrase “posted to the consulate of the breakaway Republic of Southwestern Chad.”
Here is the Tealights silver sandal from Stuart Weitzman; beautiful, simple, and sufficiently elegant enough to prevent the dispatching of your friend to Ultima Thule.