Manolo says, for those friends of the Manolo who still sometimes cry out in the night, “why are we no longer being shown the shoes of super fantasticness,” who occasionally in the odd moment wonder what is happening with their old internet friend the Manolo, well, here is update.
For the next few months, the Manolo has forsaken his usual haunts for the muy dramático landscapes and muy dinámico cityscapes of Santiago de Chile. And, sadly, he must again report that the Chilenos are no more stylish than the last time the Manolo was here. The Chilenos, they are increasing everyday in the prosperity and stability, but they have disastrously adopted the worst elements of the American People of the Wal-Mart fashions, with the grotesque tatuajes, strange piercings, and ill-fitting clothing made in places where the tailoring is done with the small hatchet and duct tape.
Still, there are many compensations for enduring such affronts, such as this…
The meal of the bife de chorizo and the caldillo de congrio, accompanied by the fine wine of Chile.
And soon, the Manolo will again pay the visit to the Museo de Moda, which he considers the best fashion museum in the world.
In the meantime, here is the pair of shoes that the Manolo would put onto the feet of the Chilean ladies, if only they would consent to the Manolo making them over.
It is summer in the Hemisphere of Southerness! What better way to celebrate the quirky excitement of the Santiago de Chile, than with the chunky platform sandals with the embroidered flowery details from the Prada!]]>
Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
Thanks to the congressional schedule my annual vacation will be arriving shortly. This year, my husband and I are going on a cruise to the Bahamas. Please recommend a pair of fun sandals I can wear on board and on shore.
Manolo says, August in the District of the Columbia is the best of the times and the worst of the times. On the one of the hands, all of the congress-beings are going “home” for the month, giving the residents of the District the brief respite from the antics of the elected class. On the other of the hands, it is August in the DC, with all of the climatological misery that implies. Thus, if one is able, running away to the sea voyage is the reasonable response.
Leave behind the sweltering heat of the nation’s capital and exchange it for the sweltering heat of the Caribbean! There, on board your pleasure barge, you will be plied with mountains of shrimp and buckets of rum-based drinks. Daily, you shall enjoy the touristic sights ashore, where you will be given the opportunity to purchase your weight in tchotchkes made from such exotic materials as coconut shells and coral beads. And, at night on the lido deck, your cruise director will bully you into participating in various “fun” events, such as the limbo contest and the pirate song sing-a-long.
Here is the Natty from the Stuart Weitzman, the raffia and leather sandal that will serve the needs of the most discriminating sailor.
Now that the Fourth of July is over and my two weeks of vacation are finished, I need some snazzy sandals to cheer me up. Something not too costly. Please help.
Manolo says, yes it is true, the saddest days of adulthood are those hot days of summer when your annual vacation has ended and you are stuck back inside at the place of the office, working for The Man. Your first morning back is tolerable because it is filled with the bustle of work and the entertainment of catching up on the office gossip. The second day, Tuesday, however, is when you realize the sadness begins.
For the first eighteen years of your existence your summers were filled with utopic months of freedom from responsibility and schoolwork. Your school and it’s disciplinarian, Mr. Wegnogson, the evil vice principal who was the bane of your youthful existence, and whom your current supervisor vaguely resembles, were weeks away in either direction.
Of the course, things were not so easy for your mother who, whenever the summers rolled around and you and your brothers were loosed from governmental supervision, seemed to always be pulling out the bottle of “cooking wine for pasta sauce”, usually just before she pushed all of you out into the backyard and locked the door, often for the full afternoon.
Look! Here is the Georgia from Sam Edelman. The snazzy golden sandals that are on the sale!
For the afternoon of the Fourth of July, my husband and I are doing a big family-and-friends picnic in our backyard, followed by the obligatory trip down to see the fireworks. Given the amount of time I’ll be on my feet, I know I should probably be wearing sneakers, but I’d prefer sandals. Please help.
Manolo says, ayyyy! The Manolo loves the Fourth of the July, with the fireworks and the picnics, and the friends, and the warm potato salad and the cold beers, but especially the fireworks. Many cheers and “good-job-well-dones” to the peoples who have invented and perfected the things that explode in the air but do not kill us.
The Manolo regards the fireworks as one of the pinnacles of human achievement, right up next to the indoor plumbing and the safety pin. Such genius to take the substance designed for destruction and convert it into the article of beauty and delight. Indeed, the fireworks displays are the one conspicuous and universal occasion when the adults are encouraged to express the childlike amazement at the world, when we profoundly wish to be surprised and awed by what comes next. And, because the fireworks are rarely exploded, only the Fourth of the July and other occasions of great joy, they retain their ability to delight us when so many other pleasures have become mundane and common.
As for the summery sandals of comfort, the Manolo recommends the Air Bria Thong Sandal from the Cole Haan, in the perfectly appropriate color known as “gunsmoke”.
Unfortunately, this year, yet again, you were out on the day that the vacation roster was passed around in your office, and when you returned the only days that were left were in late August, after the school had started. And when you complained about this to the the Big Boss Man, Mr. Slorthnig, you were offered the two weeks in early June, before the school had ended.
Happily, with the little jiggery-pokery involving swapping days with two other members of the staff, Ditzy Daisy and Jimbo Simpson, it all worked out in the end, and you were able to take off one week at the end of July and the part of the second at the beginning of October, the remainder of the days to be traded to the Cleveland office for the late round draft pick.
Still, such solutions do not make for the happy you, for now you must work until the late Thursday afternoon, and will thus be unable to make it upstate to the in-laws lake house in time for their giant, annual, Fourth of The July Spectacular, featuring the bootleg South Carolina fireworks and the homemade rum punch. (Your husband and son are especially unhappy, both having planned on this year blowing something up real good.)
Worse of all, you will now be forced to attend your local fireworks display, put on by the well-meaning but underfunded Kiwanis club, and attended by many peoples who would ordinarily be at home watching the Maury Povich Show and cooking meth in the 2-liter soda bottle. But, such are the sacrifices you are willing to make for colorful explosions and the smell of cordite.
What is clearly needed now are some fireworks for the frets, and so here are the beautiful, silver, strappy flat sandals from the Viktor and Rolf!
And, look, they are on the sale! 50% off the usual price!]]>
After yet another disastrous romance with a handsome but loutish young man, I’ve decided to swear off dating for the next few weeks. To see me through this cleansing ordeal, and to prepare me for the eventual arrival of the next Prince Almost-Charming, can you please suggest some shoes that will cheer me up?
Manolo says, yes it is true what they say, men are from Mars and women are from Neiman Marcus! For the man, the typical reaction to the romantic rejection is to go out with the backslapping buddies, have the beer or twelve, and try again with the next young woman who flounces into view.
For the typical woman, however, the best reaction is to go on the shopping spree, something of which the Manolo wholeheartedly approves. After all, is it not better to fall in love with the perfect pair of super fantastic new shoes, than to sit at home on the beanbag chair, chugging down the endless pints of Caramel-Choco-Chunk-Banana-Nut Buddy ice cream, while weeping into your Twitter account? (Not that there is anything wrong with the ice cream, but as with all mind-altering substances it is best used in moderation.)
As for what sort of shoes would be best for alleviating the pain of the chronic Disappointment in Love Syndrome, the Manolo thinks these bright blue kittenish heeled sandals, the Lillit from the Loeffler Randall will act as the mild anti-depressive antidote to what ails you.
Spring has sprung and my thoughts are turning to a sexy-but-not-too-bare cage sandal (bootie). I’d like to find something in a bronze or gold, but would consider beige as well. The problem is, most have heels 4″ or more, and I can’t go over 3″. Help!
Manolo says, ayyyy! This is one of those insoluble questions, of the sort that the Manolo occasionally receives from his many friends.
“Manolo, can you find me the pair of super-sexy, strappy comfort sandals in which I may climb the Mountain of Kilimanjaro? I should mention that afterwards there will be the reception at the Palace of Buckingham where my fiancé, whom I shall refer to by the initials Prince H., will introduce me to his grandparents, so it would be good if these shoes were made of the stain-resistant, micro-fiber unobtainium in the color such lavender or peach, as I will not have enough time in the helicopter to change. Also, I am somewhat budget conscious, so if it is possible, could we keep the price under $17?”
Actually, the question of the Kelly is not so bad. It is difficult because the cage sandals are the latest iteration of “the sexy ‘it’ shoe”, and the “sexy ‘it’ shoe” always requires the high heel. The cage sandals are not meant to be practical, they are meant to say “this women is so bursting with sexiness that her very feets must be constrained by her shoe, lest they wreak havoc on the unaccompanied PGA golfers and Silicon Valley billionaires.”
Here is the Vagibu Cage Sandals from the maestro Manolo Blahnik. It has the four-inch heel and is wildly expensive. But, even if you cannot wear it or afford it, it is still most beautiful to look at, no?
My junior prom is coming up, and I’ve decided that rather than look like a Disney fairy princess or a high-class prostitute I want to try to be more elegant and restrained in a little black dress that’s not too short. I need some shoes that add color, and because I’m in high school so money is an issue.
Manolo says, ayyyy! How well the Manolo remembers his own high school prom at the Our Lady of the Flaming Spleen Country Day School (whose motto remains “The wrathful word turneth away evil”). As expected the Manolo turned out in his finest finery, the frock coat, striped trousers, silken waistcoat, top hat, spats and his finest walking stick, which, the truth be told, was not that different from what he normally wore to school each day.
Because the Manolo was the fashion reporter for the school newspaper, it was his job to stand on the red carpet and interview the most splendiferous couples as they arrived in the rented limousines, dressed in the ill-fitting tuxedos and polyester hoochie-mama gowns.
“Ayyy! You look fabulous darling. Who is this you are wearing? Fernando of Tulsa? It is smashing, this combination of rhinestones and pink rayon!”
Here is the Red Carpet Kelli from the E! Live, in the gold metallic that will enliven the simple black dress in the exactly correct way to distinguish one from the crowd.
Not only is weather here abominable, but worse my boyfriend won’t be able to get back from Atlanta in time for Valentine’s Day. Can you please, please suggest some shoes that will cheer me up.
Manolo says, just the mere two weeks ago, the Manolo was mocking the apocalyptic prognostications of the weather people, and now, ayyyyy! The real Snowpocalypse his finally here! And now, the Manolo is regretting his insouciance.
Although, one must admit that it that the current situation is very much like the fairy tale of the Weatherboy who cried Winter Storm Wolf. If every little flurry of flakes is greeted with the shouts of panicked trepidation, then when the real storms of ice arrive we all be out on the roads, where we will encounter the fellow drivers who have only recently arrived from exotic places such as Equatorial Guinea and Miami, where ice is merely theoretical.
At that point, after you have abandoned your car in the ditch along side the road and are trudging home through three miles of ice and snow in your flip-flops, because you had rushed out at the last minute to buy the extra feathers for your down comforter, you will be drawing up elaborate plans of revenge on the entire class of weather people, involving ice floes, arctic seas and the hungry, hungry polar bears.
Look! Here is the Laurence leather cage, lace-up sandals from the Christian Louboutin, in the beautiful riviera blue, because, of the course, the French Riviera is where you would rather be.
I’m very tall, 5’11” to be specific, and for most of my life (I’m now 29) I’ve avoided wearing heels so that I don’t tower over others in the crowd. However, I’ve decided that I’m now confident enough to try to look a little more glamorous when I go out. What would you recommend? How high is too high a heel?
Manolo ask, how high the heel? The Manolo answers, how high the moon!
Every few of the months, the Manolo gets the question from the tall girl asking permission to wear the tall heels, as if the Manolo were the world authority on the social life of the vollyball players and super models. The implicit question is always the same, will the shorty boys not like being with the tally girls, who are the head-and-bosom statuesque over them?
And every few of the months the Manolo gives the same answer, which is the same thing he says to all the girls, fat, thin, short, or tall, stop slumping, stand up straight, throw back the shoulders, and wear the heels if you want. Few things are more appealing than good posture and self-confidence.
Who cares what the insecure men will think? Any man who would feel threatened by the young woman because she is too tall is the man whose opinion is perhaps not worth the consideration.
Here is the Clayton from Joie,, the provocative, suede, 3¾ inch peep-toe with the ankle ties that will be perfect for those little-black-dress functions where the tall girls are appreciated.