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

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Dear Manolo,

I see that low-heeled pumps are in fashion this season, which is perfect for me. I really can’t walk in anything over two inches. It’s too painful. Can you recommend something sharp to wear to the office?

Marjorie

Manolo says, ayyyy! It is true, the New York Times fashion section has declared that the frump is fashionable! According to the Susan Joy, this season “dowager classics like frame handbags, cardies, and costume jewelry are the height of chic”

To which the Manolo says, when have such practical and handsome items ever truly been out of the fashion? Yes, beautiful young peoples with lithe bodies and smooth skin can wear anything and make it seem fashionable. Indeed, who aside from the Manolo remembers that strange moment, circa Summer of 1983, when all the young Madonnas were wearing the faded bib overalls with one shoulder undone? (Please to review the summer of ‘83 music videos for “Come on Eileen” from the Dexys Midnight Runners and “Cruel Summer” from the Bananarama.)

But, for the sophisticated ladies who luncheon the uniform of choice has been remarkably stable over the past generation or two, and it is because such things as commodious purses, toasty cardigans, and reasonable shoes are practical and attractive.

Here from the Fendi is the Austen jacquard canvas and suede loafer pump with the yellow color block heel that takes the frump to the height of stylishness.

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

Dear Manolo,

Because of past experiences, which I shall not describe, I’ve come to hate Valentine’s Day. This year, however, I’ve got a new boyfriend who’s romantic enough to do right by the holiday. Can you please suggest some red shoes appropriate for the day?

Nicole

Manolo says, yes, it is true, Dia de San Valentine is one of the most dangerous days of the entire calendar, when the wild passions that bubble beneath the surface erupt in the geyser of candy hearts, red roses, and dime store lingerie.

Woe be to the man, says the Manolo, who ventures forth on that day, forward into the fray of love, armed with nothing but the box of the Russell Stover’s caramels and the risqué greeting card he has picked up at the Wal-Mart while buying the oil filter wrench, and signed, in block print, “Love ya.”

Such paltry tokens of ardor are insufficient to the task of soothing the savage breast of the ordinary American woman, who demands the more earnest evidence of ardor, such as the romantic dinner at the Red Lobster, or the gift certificate, denominated in the high two figures, to the Victoria’s Secret.

And woe to the woman, says the Manolo, who fails to understand that what the ordinary American man most desires on that auspicious day is that the festivities culminate in the most passionate embraces, after which he be allowed to peacefully roll over and subside into blissful slumber.

Look! Here is the Chantel the hot, sexy, hot passion red shoe from the Pour la Victoire/

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

Dear Manolo

Can you recommend a shoe that’s comfortable enough for my half-hour metro ride and fifteen minute walk to work, but still classy enough to wear in the office?

Elyse

Manolo says, ayyy! It is the eternal working girl question: the shoes in which you will strut around the place of employment in your semi-offical role as the Office Fashion Plate are not comfortable enough for the commuting back and forth from your home on the public transportation.

It is ture, that for as long as the women have gone to the place of work outside the home, this problem has been with us.

Indeed, the Melanie Griffith’s hit movie Working Girl, which appeared more than 25 years ago, prominently featured scenes of our heroine commuting back and forth from the Staten Island in tennis shoes, with socks wore over her pantyhose.

But, the Manolo actually suspects that if one looked into the ancient fashion records one would find that the 1920s secretaries complained about not finding shoes that were suitable for both riding on the omnibus and taking stenography from that young Victrola salesman who looked like Rudy Valleé.

Happily, the Manolo can report that shoe technology seems to have advanced moderately from the days of the Thoroughly Modern Millie. Here is the Moscow, the attractive stacked heel pump from Ecco, the company that specializes in making comfortable shoes that do not look as if they were meant for Thoroughly Ancient Millie.

People say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. False. The road to Hell is paved in cobblestones, which means you can’t wear heels. That’s what makes it Hell.

When I first expatriated, I lived in a little village paved with the Devil’s bunions and it was a two mile walk to the restaurant that provided most of my sustenance. I walked eight miles a day that car-less summer. Heels were out of the question. I used bronze Roman sandals instead. After all, a girl must have some glamor.

Even when I had wheels, I still refused to risk a broken ankle –or worse, a scuffed heel– by wearing stilettos unless someone agreed to carry me bodily to my vehicle; a daunting task, especially if you’re not set up with the appropriate winches, pulleys and hydraulic jacks.

As luck would have it, I was the only woman in the village young enough not to know a time when mammoth was a nutritious part of your complete breakfast and I struck up a friendship with an enormous (and enormously smitten) former Golden Gloves boxer who bore a striking resemblance to Zeus, assuming Zeus was Latino and spent most of his life getting punched in the head for money.

Now I know I’m in a committed relationship and all, but seriously, if you’ve never tried Greek God as a mode of transportation, I highly commend it.

However, if you can’t find your own punch-drunk Olympian to haul you around your town like a sack of well-shod potatoes, never fear. The Continental heel is making a slow but steady return to fashion.

So wait, what is a Continental heel?

The Continental heel –pictured above lending its graceful curve to a pair of Robert Clergerie booties– is closely related and thus often confused with the Louis heel. Of course it doesn’t help that half the shoes labeled as a Louis heel are actually Continentals.

They’re both flared heels, that much is true.

However, a Louis heel has a height limit –a true Louis can’t be more than 3″ high.

See, good ol’ King Louis XIV of France was one of those pocket monarchs, so he took to wearing heels to give himself a 3″ boost. Then he forbade anyone to wear heels higher than his, because apparently that’s what you do when you’re king.

King Louis XIV of France, fresh off his fabulous Las Vegas revue, sporting a pair of Louis heels

A Louis heel also traditionally has a curved breast, meaning the front part of the heel –the part that faces the toe– tapers and flares the echo the back part. Continental heels have the same curved or tapered back, but the breast is flat or nearly so.

I think we’re due for a comeback of a thicker heel.

We had a few seasons where Prada was showing banana heels everywhere but it didn’t last. I’d really like to see a serious return to one of the original sculptural heels. They’re pretty, fresh-looking and –for my purposes anyway– infinitely easier to deploy on cobblestones. Not that I’ll be telling Zeus Golden Gloves that.

Fit Note: Robert Clergerie runs pretty true to size for length, but designs for women with banana feet. If you’ve got narrow feet, you’re in luck. Everyone else, size up and pray.

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

Dear Manolo,

My fabulous cousin, whose birthday is the day after mine, and has been an anchor through many crises, turned 40 a couple of weeks ago. I’m sorry to say I had to miss her surprise party because I was away on a business trip. But, it is not too late for giving wonderful surprise birthday presents. Might you have a suggestion?

Monica

Manolo says, perhaps it is the gypsy in the Manolo, but the Manolo cannot help but love the giant, big families, with the thirteen children, and the twenty-dozen cousins of the varying degrees.

Especially the first cousins, who because they are not always around like the siblings, can be great sources of support and amusement, without the attendant rivalry, jealousy, and periodic fist-fighting. And this is the secret to the relationship, you have the same grandmamma and the same grandpapa, but you also have the different parents! The truth is hiding in plain sight, so obvious, and yet so powerful.

Who else but the first cousin would readily agree to accompany you your on your schemes of mayhem and glory, without trying to steal the parental affection that will be required when you return home in ignominy?

For the example, the teeny Manolo and his own favorite first cousin, Teofilo, often sought out adventure in the countryside around the caravans. Ayyy! How many times did they have to scamper back home covered in purloined watermelon, the authorities in full cry behind them, only to split apart at the final moment, Teofilo to his mother’s lap and the Manolo to his own beloved mama’s.

Here is the Manda from Kate Spade New York in the poetical anthracite starlight finish, perfect for the beloved accomplice on the occasion of her belated fortieth birthday.

In the spirit of full disclosure, the Venn Diagram of “People Who Think Spangled and Be-Caped Polyester Jumpsuits Are a Good Idea” and “People from Whom Miss Plumcake Takes Sartorial Advice” does not see a great deal of overlapping.

Still, as both Elvis and Carl Perkins –the artist responsible for writing the seminal rockabilly classic– know, there’s just something about a good pair of suede shoes.

Blue is fine if a little expected, but greens from dusky olive to deep viridian are having a major moment this fall. Plus, green suede ages better blue does, where a bit of dirt and scuffing add to the character.

A little Annie Hall, a little Jules et Jim, these immaculate oxfords from Gravati (seriously, look at the soles, they are works of art) are the exact sort of shoe you didn’t know you needed until you find yourself wearing them for thirty years. Style it with rolled up jeans and a bateau-neck top for the kooky naif look, or go elegant with wide tailored trousers and a mercilessly chic cashmere sweater to channel Marlene Dietrich at her deadliest.

The iconic Alexander McQueen skull pump rarely goes on sale and this iteration is among the more elegant (the shark, I’m afraid, was jumped a good while ago with some of the late designer’s other iconic designs. See also, Marc Jacobs’ mouse shoe). Sizing is extremely limited, but if it fits your foot, you can get a signature shoe for over 50% off.

For something just as sexy but a little more sly, Robert Clergerie’s curvaceous Quatro in Basil is a lovely sample of a desk-to-dinner heel. The t-strap makes it perfect for dancing. In my experience, Clergerie cuts on a narrow last –it’s truth universally acknowledged that French women have skinny little banana feet– so size accordingly.

What do you wear to transition summer’s favorite maxi dresses into fall? A summer cut in an autumnal fabrication. The wallet-friendly Primrose from Seychelles fits the bill perfectly with a strong design element at the vamp that ascends higher up the throatline for a slightly less summery look. Even better, they’re on sale for 25% off.

Finally, I know people avoid suede because of the staining. I wouldn’t.

With use, suede develops a patina every bit as elegant as the crumpled lines of a linen pant. Buy them in neutrals and do your best to keep them away from oils –basically don’t fry chicken or perform automotive maintenance in them– and you’ll be good to go.

Oh, and as for maintenance: Ignore pretty much everything you’ve read on the internet on how to clean suede and listen to the advice from London custom shoemakers James Taylor and Son. They’ve been making bespoke footwear since 1857 and wouldn’t steer you wrong.

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

Dear Manolo,

Next week, I’m going back to college to finish my degree. Sixteen years ago, before I quit school and started working, I never had any doubt about what to wear, or how to comport myself. Now, I’m in my mid-thirties and lost. What should I wear during my first week to make a good impression? Please keep in mind that I’m just a poor (returning) college student.

Stacy

Manolo says, from what the Manolo can see, the modern college students generally dress like the mental patients, in stain-resistant, loose-fitting clothing with drawstrings. Au currant for the young ladies are colorful sweatshirts and pajama bottoms, while the young gentlemen favor the sweatpants and novelty t-shirts.

And on their feets are the cheap flip-flops, shoes that induce in their wearer the sort of shuffling, shambling gait that goes well with the shabby clothing.

But then, when you are 18 years of age, it does not matter what you wear. Youthful beauty and vigor trump even in the most ridiculous of costumes, which is why the fashion designers hire willowy teenagers to model their clothing. However, for those of us whom eighteen is the distant memory, artifice, guile, and the keen eye for fashion must substitute for the natural advantages of youth.

This is why the Manolo suggests that the older students adopt the “business casual” standards for the on-campus wear. Treat your time back in the school as the job. Be more serious in comportment and attire than the average student and you will succeed admirably.

Here is the Nolan from Franco Sarto, the reasonably priced, mid-heel loafer that will distinguish you as the person who is there to learn, not par-tay.

Manolo says, from the Proenza Schouler comes this super-kawaii, cutey-cute, peep-toe, slingback pump with the color-blocking. And look! It is reduced 50% from the usual price! The savings of over $500 of the American dollars!

N.B. Psychologists have proven what we already know, shoes tell us much about the wearer…

The Daltord from Robert Clergerie, $595.

Manolo says, it is not easy being the assistant general counsel for the major, Fortune 500, consumer goods corporation, but after several years of clawing your way upward, working 80-hour weeks, and cutting the throats of your competitors and yes, occasionally, your friends, you have achieved just that.

All you have to do now is wait for the general counsel–the genial dunderhead with the 4 handicap and the 28-year-old trophy wife–to mess up, and his job is yours. And you deserve it, too, having sacrificed your first marriage on the altar of your ambition, opening its chest as if you were the Aztec priestess armed with the ragged obsidian knife.

But, whatever, right? It was worth it. You have no regrets. None… Not one.

Yes, occasionally, at night, while you are waiting for the Ambien to kick in, you think about what it was like when you were eleven. About your mother, mostly.

There is this recurring image of her standing at the kitchen sink, slicing tomatoes for the dinner salad. She is humming. You do not even know what the song is, but you know it sounds happy, because your mother, for all of her many faults, always seemed happy, bustling around the house, or playing tennis, helping at the church, going to the garden club.

She should have been miserable, five children in seven years, with your father only making the civil engineer’s salary. But she wasn’t. Not even when the breast cancer was eating away at her. Instead, she was still writing you these chipper letters talking about how poorly her azaleas were doing, and how she was going to give this yellow Hermés scarf that never suited her to the church’s spring jumble sale. She was only three years older than you are now.

Jan is just like her, with her four boys, her petty hobbies– crocheting!–and her rented summer cottage at Cape May. She and Mac have been together 29 years now, married for 26 of them.

You keep trying to get them to come spend the week or two at your place in Paris. It’s not much, just the two-bedroom flat on the third floor of the nondescript building, but the location is spectacular, in the 7e arrondissement just the short distance to the Rue Cler. (You bought these shoes at the Clergerie shop on the Champs-Élysées, which isn’t too far away.)

You should just send them the plane tickets. Get Pat, their oldest, to help you arrange it. Make it the surprise for them, something romantic. You can be there for the couple of days, and then let them have the place to themselves for the rest of the week.

And thinking of this, of your sister Jan and her stolid husband in Paris, actually makes you happy, which reminds you of something else your mother used to say, something you have always regarded as ridiculous, to wit: “The best way to cure insomnia is to help other people.”

Maybe there is something to that.

Manolo says, it is Tuesday and you will not be at your desk this day, for you must attend the three-day strategy planning conference held at the world headquarters of the InEmTechCoCorp, Inc.

To say that you are not looking forward to this is the understatement. Three days of the tediously protracted committee meetings, filled with blather and jargon, and fueled by over-roasted coffee and free-floating angst. The toadies will toady, the vice presidents will preen, and you will be forced to pretend to pay attention to the proceedings.

No doodling for you! Sit up straight! The Vice President in Charge of Forward-Thinking Strategic Planning Strategy is giving the presentation!

You will tap listlessly on your electro-tablet iThingy as this besuited buffoon talks about how he took charge and strategically planned the corporate plan for strategy, while his toadies nod their heads.

Maybe, just for the second, you can mentally slip away…

“Manolo,” you whisper to yourself, “quick, show me the shoes!”

Here is the Tina from the Salvatore Ferragamo. Simple, elegant, restrained, handsome.

Manolo says, this is how things sometimes work in the world of the Manolo: he is looking at the shoes, and suddenly, something catches his eye, and delights his fancy, and he is moved to cry hosanna and put it on the humble shoe blog for all to admire. Such is the case with this, the Clarice Satin Pump from the Kate Spade New York, the perfect shoe for the festive celebration where the bold color is required.

Manolo says, Ayyyyyy! Finally, the fairy tale has come true!