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

Dear Manolo,

I will soon attend my granddaughter’s baptism. This church asks that women do not wear dresses above the knee, or trousers. I am short, and longer skirts make me look, well, grandmotherly, unless they are worn with heels. However, the ceremony is long, and the congregation stands for the whole thing, plus of course there is a party afterwards which will probably be too crowded for much sitting. Is there a flat shoe that says “although I am delighted to have a grandchild, and know how to dress appropriately for a religious occasion, nevertheless I am not too old to look superfantastic”?

Ruth

Manolo says, oh how often the Manolo wishes he were the wizard with the long beard and the conical hat with the stars embroidered upon it!

“Good Wizard Manolo,” the Manolo’s hobbity friends would say, “can you please do something to make our feets feel both comfortable and gorgeous while we are on the lengthy quest to observe our religious rites.”

To which the Grand Wizard Manolo would say, “No. The Manolo is only the mage, not the miracle worker. There are some things beyond the power of even magic.”

And then he would wave his wand over the pile of leather and silk causing them to magically turn into the glittery, six-inch-tall, Louboutainish platform sandals that could only be worn by the Elfish super models, who seem to glide along the forest in wispy-gauzy fabric shifts that show their sylph-like figures to good effect.

The non-wizard Manolo would say that if you have the shape for it, the elegant ankle-skimming skirt cut on the bias could look good with the romantic pretty flat such as the Jolie from the the Sam Edelman.

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

Dear Manolo,

I survived Thanksgiving, Black Friday, Cyber Monday all in fine fettle. Now, however, I’m faced with the ultimate holiday season test, my husband’s office Christmas party. Not only will my husband’s boss be there, but the boss’s boss, and the boss’s boss’s boss, all the way up to the CEO. I’ve got my little black dress, and now I need some pretty shoes, something under $200 if you can manage, please.

Jennifer

Manolo says, ayyyy! The moment of great danger approaches, when the innocent young peoples who have ventured forth, Hansel and Gretel style, into the deep thicket of The Corporate Woods, encounter the gingerbread house at the center.

Yes, at the first glance, the holiday office party would appear to be festive sort of thing, with the decorations, the twinkling lights, and the row of smiling bosses with their skinny-toned, Harvard MBA, trophy wives.

But do not be deceived, young person, for there are traps and monsters and witches waiting for you, eager to pull you from the career ladder and devour your chances at getting your own reserved parking space in the office garage.

Keep in mind these sensible rules of proper behavior: Do not talk about the election just past; do not have that third glass of champagne; and do not, under any circumstances, dance with the boss, the boss’s boss, or the boss’s boss’s boss to the “slow jam”.

Look! Here is the Vivian from the Badgley Mischka, the strappy sandal in the metallic silvery color that seems sufficiently festive for the happily ever after.

Manolo says, on this day, seventy years ago, our maestro di tutti maestri Manolo Blahnik graced the world with his presence!

In honor of this historic event, and in honor of our Maestro’s glorious day, the humble Manolo the Shoeblogger gives to you this link to the most recent interview.

Actually, I know what he means. It is strange to think, now, that there was a time not so long ago when shoes were just shoes, rather than the magical totems of success and femininity they have become. Expensive high heels have become a motif in our popular culture for Stuff Women Want. They are how Olympians reward themselves for success, and the default shorthand of every chick-lit book cover. And the origin of this idea of the shoe as a magical object stems, in large part, from the way Manolo designs them. His sketches of shoes are extraordinary: not inanimate line-drawings but character portraits, sensual and suggestive. Richard Avedon’s fashion photography showed us how clothes can lend charisma and attitude to the wearer, by teasing out and emphasising the posture and silhouette of the body. Manolo did the same with footwear. With his sketches, Manolo has done more to open the eyes of the world to the transformative power of the right shoe than anyone since Cinderella.

And yet, Manolo has never really cashed in on the phenomenon he helped create. He has never sold his company. He still personally designs every pair of shoes that bears his name, rather than delegate to a studio. Key roles in the company are held by members of his family, and he has never done a lucrative mass-market collaboration, along the lines of Jimmy Choo for H&M. He is a wealthy man with an enviable lifestyle, but perhaps not as wildly rich as one might expect. He lives in Bath, in an 18th-century townhouse that he adores; he says he moved there in the 1980s because he “could not possibly afford” such a house in London. “But who cares? I couldn’t care less about business,” he says cheerfully.

As always, he is revealed as the most delightful person, and our model in all things.

Manolo says, in case you missed this, last week, the Manolo wrote the small piece for the Daily Dot website about the pernicious effects of the fancy food blogs…

It is all because of the deleterious effects of the food blogs that early this morning you had to make the special trip to that hipster butcher shop, you know the one with the nice young men who have the arms full of tattoos and wear the ironic handlebar mustachios. Unfortunately, because of the food blogs, you had no choice. You had to pick up the organic, pastured, free-range, eighteen-pound heirloom turkey, which had been ordered directly from the farmer for your big Thanksgiving meal.

When you got to the check out counter, you were afraid to look while the Betty Boop-a-like girl in the polka-dot kerchief rang you up, so you just handed over your debit card and pretended to examine the copy of Adbusters. It was one hundred and nineteen dollars and change. More money than you had paid for the past six holiday turkeys combined, all of them honest Butterball toms who had given their lives in noble service to gluttony and national pride.

You had not wanted to spend so much money on the bird, but two years ago it was your brother’s turn to host the family festival, and his wife (who is the adjunct professor of sociology down at the junior college) served the organic free-range turkey, which everyone, including your husband Gary, praised as “the best bird ever.”

What made this all so galling is that your sister-in-law has her own silly food blog, (silly, despite the fact that it was nominated for the James Beard Award for Excellence in Pornographic Food Photography, which it thankfully did not win) which means that on Friday morning the entire interwebs were treated to the large picture of Gary, fork in mouth, being transported in orgasmic ecstasy to the ethereal plane of turkey delight. Tweeted and retweeted by the followers of your sister-in-laws blog, this photo of Gary had become, by the end of the weekend, its own meme, prominently featured above the fold on the Buzzfeed with the variety of captions, the majority of which were variations on the theme “Ermahgerd Terky!”

And now you must go read the rest of the piece.

The Manolo wishes all of his internet friends the Happiest of Happy Thanksgivings.

There is so much for which the Manolo must be thankful, but chief among those things are you, dearest readers. Your generosity of spirit and willingness to indulge the Manolo here at his humble shoe blog have brought immeasurable joy. May your day be filled with family, friends, turkey, and all things super fantastic!

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

Dear Manolo,

Thanks to Hurricane Sandy, we’re having Thanksgiving at my house this year. I’ve never done this before, cooked a turkey-and-all-the-trimmings for 25 people. (How hard can it be, right?) So, I’ve ordered the turkey, and thought about seating arrangements, tried out various pumpkin-and-indian-corn centerpieces, but now I need some shoes, something comfortable enough for the kitchen, but attractive enough for the dining room.

Kelly

Manolo says, once again it is time for the peculiarly American festival of Thanksgiving, when we honor our Puritan ancestors, and give thanks to the God in the Heaven, by committing at least three, and possibly four, of the Seven Deadly Sins (Gluttony, Pride, Sloth, and if the traditional holds, Wrath.)

Speaking of the wrathfulness, this year, the conversations around the table should be especially fun, given the fact that 51% of the people present will be gloating about the recent election, while the other 49% will be working through the five stages of electoral grief.

Cooking Tip: For best eating results one should brine the turkey for at least 24 hours before the cooking. The Manolo the Chef suggests using the equal portions of kosher salt and the crushed Quaaludes, just to give the tryptophane that extra boost that will prevent your relatives from becoming too feisty, quoting Rush Limbaugh and Paul Krugman at each other during the timeouts of the football game.

Here is the Tiffany from the Kate Spade New York, the mid-heel, peep-toe wedge that has exactly the right amount of oomph to distract your guests away from the topic of the politics.

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

Dear Manolo,

For reasons that would be very familiar to approximately 50 million voting-age Americans, I woke up Wednesday morning feeling very depressed about the current state of affairs and recent events. Can you please recommend some shoes to cheer me up?

Ann

Manolo says, the Manolo, who finds politics generally distasteful, must confess that he woke up Wednesday morning feeling nothing but relief that the aggressive, importuning, hectoring, and round-the-clock campaigning for the public office had finally ended…for now.

It is not that the Manolo is disdainful of the multitudinous benefits of democracy, such sound-bite debates, motorcade traffic jams, and “I approve this slander”, but rather that the Manolo’s political inclinations cannot be satisfied by the traditional two-party American system.

Indeed, if the Manolo had to describe his political leanings, he would say that he was the Shoetarian Monarchist. He longs for the divine-right king who looks good in the ermine robe, silk tights, stacked heels, and the shoulder-length peruke, like Louis XIV, or the English monarch Charles II.

Oddly, either of this season’s presidential candidates would have made the excellent constitutional monarch. Both of them are handsome, distinguished men who look good in the tailored suits and give speeches filled with nothing but the platitudinous bromides. Either would be perfectly suited for the duties of modern kingship, such as cutting ribbons at the super market grand openings and waving stiffly from balconies.

Look! Here is the Gladia Artistic cutout sandal from the Oscar de la Renta, the magnificent, shiny object that will distract you from your gloom.

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

Dear Manolo,

Thanks to a recent unpleasant experience with a late-season hurricane which shall remain nameless, I have come to the realization that I need to upgrade my rain boots to something sturdier and less girlish. Please help.

Angela

Manolo says, it is true! The pink girly gum boots that were fine for skipping down the street to the patisserie in the light mist would likely prove unsuitable for wearing while chain-sawing into kindling the oak tree which has crushed your Prius.

But this is why the five-hundred square feet walk-in shoe closets were invented, no? Because you need many different sorts of the shoes for many different sorts of the occasions, including the various situations that arise during the natural and/or manmade disasters.

For the example, by the Manolo’s reckoning, to be properly dressed during the recent hurricane would have required at least five different pairs of the shoes, to include the it-won’t-be-so-bad-hurricane-party shoes, the ayyyy!-we-are-all-going-to-die-drunk shoes, the oy-it-was-worse-than-imagined-hangover shoes, the what-to-wear-to-the-Red-Cross-shelter shoes, and finally, and most importantly, the shoes of did-not-listen-to-the-warnings-remorsefulness.

As for what sturdy foul weather boots the Manolo would recommend for the young lady who vows to take matters more seriously next time, the Manolo is partial to the Hunter Huntress, the traditional tall wellington that has served generations of unflappable English ladies very well.

Manolo asked, whose shoes?

Manolo answers, it is the Helena Bonham Carter!

Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend, the K, for being the first to correctly identify this week’s kooky-nutty celebrity of note.

Manolo asks, whose shoes?

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

Dear Manolo,

Can you please help me? I’m having a hard time deciding on my Halloween costume this year. It’s come down to a choice between Morticia Addams (with a very short skirt), a Sexy Librarian, or Sarah Palin. Which do you think would be the best? What sort of shoes should I wear with it?

Emmy

Manolo says, the Manolo remembers when the Halloween was a holiday for only the little kids, who dressed up like the balleina, or the cowboy, or the Superman, and took delight in the seasonal joys of carving the pumpkins, eating the candy, and “scaring” the neighbors.

But then, sometime around the 1995, the Halloween metamorphosed into the fully adult holiday, in which the little kids are almost the after thought. Now it has become our annual Brazen Festival of Hoochie Unbound, the Dionysian bacchanal in which even the most matronly soccer mom must, for the single evening, put on the micro-mini dress and halter-top and become the Sexy Nurse, or the Sexy Pirate Lady, or the Sexy Eleanor Roosevelt.

The Manolo suggests, this year, tossing out the old, exhausted Sexy Something Halloween template, and going with the more creative costuming. Instead of tarting up the mundane, (such as the Sexy Meter Maid), try to de-tart something naturally alluring, such as the Unsexy Stripper, the Unsexy Scarlet Johansson, or the Unsexy Librarian (which, at this point, would be the radical departure from the new Halloween tradition.)

Here is the Park tall boot from the Stuart Weitzman, something that would look great under the full-length, tweed skirt that is the centerpiece of your Unsexy Victorian Trollop outfit.

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

Dear Manolo,

Now that Fall is here, I find I need some new boots, something that will keep me warm and dry. Did I mention that I’m a poor working girl? I am, so can you please suggest something reasonably priced?

Lola

Manolo says, as always the Manolo’s advice is to save up your moneys and purchase the best quality, most super fantasticest shoes possible, as nothing can give as much satisfaction as wearing the pair of beautiful, well-made shoes.

However, the Manolo knows what it is like to be the poor person during the rainy cold season, the poor person who must fashion his own super fantastic winter boots out of plastic soda bottles and bits of home insulation that you have harvested from the abandoned building site near the cave where you keep your Madame Alexander doll collection.

Unfortunately, despite the Manolo’s boundless sympathy, when it comes to the weatherproof boots, unless you are the wizard with the duct tape and the fake fur, you will have to spend some money to get something that will both look good, keep out the weather, and last the long time.

This is why the Manolo is especially fond of the La Canadienne boots. They are made in Montreal, by the French Canadians; people who live in igloos but still care about what is appearing on the runways in Paris.

Here is the Mazy from La Canadienne. It is not cheap, but it is the solid long-term investment in comfort, the sort of handsome weatherproof boot that will be wearable for many winters to come.