Manolo says, here are the beautiful strappy mid-heel sandals from the Anne Klein New York. Exactly what the Dr. Manolo orders for the final week of the summer.
Manolo says, here are the few items that may perhaps amuse…
A crime against inhumanity.
“Once you have accepted the belt into your daily regimen it will make perfect sense. It will be the first thing you reach for in your wardrobe.”
“In his briefcase, I would come across photographs of the Star magazine, as well as copies of Playboy,” she writes. “It would soon come to the point where I was sick of hearing Whitney Houston’s name.”
Manolo says, Huzzah! The Manolo the Shoeblogger he has been quoted in the Galveston County Daily News. Finally, the influence of the Manolo is being felt in the heartland!
As the end of summer approaches, the question looms: Can you wear white shoes after Labor Day?
This question raises as much passionate debate as politics and religion — especially among Southern women.
The traditional rule says you put away your white shoes on Labor Day and don’t take them out until Easter.
There are dissenters.
“Fashion rules were made to be broken,” said Patricia McCune, who tracks trends for J.C. Penney Co. “Actually, the way that fashion is going now, the big thing is for everyone to express their individuality. So I say whatever expresses your individuality, go for it.”
Last year, Manolo’s Shoe Blog (http://shoeblogs.com) offered the same advice.
“The correct rule is always appropriateness,” Manolo wrote. “It is indeed not appropriate to wear the flip flops to meet the Mr. President. However, it is most appropriate to wear the super fantastic white shoes anytime the weather it is clement.”
It is that time of the year again, time for the annual arguement about the wearing of the white shoes after the Day of Labor.
Soon, like the Punxsutawney Phil on the Day of the Groundhog, the Manolo will emerge from his lair to make is annual official pronouncement on this matter.
Manolo says, the Eastern European mania for the high heel racing it has reached the West!
A 25-year old psychology student ran away with the first foot race down Berlin’s swish Kurfuerstendamm boulevard in stiletto high heels.
It took Nadine Sonnabend just 12 seconds to run the 100 metres (328 feet) on her seven centimetre-high heels (almost three inch), said the organisers of the Stiletto Run, which is being held as part of the Global Fashion Festival.
“I much prefer tennis,” admitted Nadine, as she walked off with her 10,000-euro (12,800-dollar) voucher to spend at Berlin’s most prestigious department store KaDeWe, admitting that she rarely wears high heels.
Manolo says, ayyyyyy! There is the super fantatastic article about the shoes in this month’s edition of the National Geographic, entitled The Joy of Shoes!
Naturally, there are many pictures, but it is the writing that speaks most wonderfully to the Manolo. Here is the sample.
Olga Berluti loves men’s feet—a passion, not a fetish, she says. The passion began with her convent schooling in Italy. A long corridor led to the chapel and a 14th-century statue of Christ. “I would approach the altar,” she remembers. “The nailed feet of Christ were exactly on the same level as my eyes. I stared and stared. I said to myself: When I am older, I will remove the nails. I will relieve the suffering of men’s feet.”
Berluti, small and slight with short black hair and eyes so dark they seem to be all pupil, does not seem tethered to the ground. She lives simply, does not eat meat and does not wear leather (“My life is flesh and blood already”). She wears only natural fibers—always white. On her feet: white cotton sneakers in summer, white wool shoes in winter. She is an ascetic in a universe of extravagance. “I sublimate myself. I suffer. I have spent my life at men’s feet,” says Olga, Our Lady of Shoes.
She speaks in Celtic rune and Delphic pronouncement. “Man is a vagabond deluxe. We are moving through to the perfection of gesture,” she says. So what if the utterances make little sense. We are talking mystique and shoes with the chiaroscuro of a Caravaggio. We are talking shoes with the sleek, menacing profile of a mako shark, shoes decorated with piercings, tattoos, sometimes scars. They are shoes, she says, for the hidden warrior inside every man. Shoes, also, for the man with four to twelve thousand dollars to spend on a made-to-order dream.
Her atelier, in an 18th-century building in Paris’s Marais, is a stage set. A shoemaker’s bench with rows of apothecary bottles sits in the corner. Do the bottles contain essence of sorrow? Tincture of pain? No, merely fragrant oils and dyes. The lasts—she calls them ex-votos—of Berluti’s famous clientele rest on low tables. There are lasts that belonged to Pablo Picasso (“We made his sandals”); Jean Cocteau (“He liked to wear shoes without socks”); Andy Warhol (“He asked for his right loafer to be patched—and be very visible”).
Once a year Olga Berluti invites clients to the Swann Club soiree, a black-tie affair, with champagne, not just to drink, but to clean shoes. “The alcohol makes them shine, but it must be chilled; it must be a very dry, a grand champagne.”
In Olga Berluti’s world, the relationship between man and shoe is complex. “Shoes adopt and tame you, and you adopt and tame them, like domesticating a wild animal,” she says. “You buy a pair of shoes you adore, but they are too edgy, too avant-garde. Perhaps your wife made you buy them. You put them away, and little by little this style, this color you’re not used to seeps in. You buy a jacket that goes with them, or a different color shirt. One day, you realize you have become the man your wife envisioned. The shoes revealed something new, something unexpected in you.”
The Manolo he has commented in the past about the divine Olga Berluti, whom the Manolo considers to be his kindred soul.
Speaking of the kindred souls, there is, of the course, the wonderful section about the Maestro Manolo Blahnik, whom your humble shoeblogger worships, and who can perfectly express why we who love the shoes love the shoes.
Still, it is pointed out, it is only a shoe.
Blahnik nods. “Yes, only a shoe, but if I provide escape for the woman who wears it, if for only a few minutes, it brings a bit of happiness to someone, well, then, perhaps, it is something more than a shoe.”
It is so true.
Now, you must go to the website of the National Geographic and see this marvelous production.
Manolo says, the latest column of the Manolo it is now up at the Express of the Washington Post, however, you may also read it here below.
I’m searching for a light blue shoe in size 10. I need something dressy, sexy and classy. Thank you.
Manolo says, each week, the Manolo he receives many dozens of the e-mails from his friends asking the Manolo to help with their various shoe-based needs. There are the letters from the poor girls, the flat-feeted girls, the big-feeted girls, the lawyers and even from the police ladies, all asking the Manolo to assist them.
Often these letters are filled with the heartrending detail about the shoes that cannot be worn, and the budgets that cannot be stretched. Occasionally, however, the Manolo gets the brief letter, such as the one above, which, because it is so brief, is most difficult to answer.
For the example, what is the occasion that requires the light blue shoe? Only the knowledge of the proper context can tell the Manolo if it is the dressy, sexy, classy shoe that is actually needed here, rather than the sexy, classy, dressy shoe, or the classy, dressy, sexy shoe, which are the very different things.
However, the Manolo he will still attempt to answer the question, and thus here is the Evonne from the Imagine by Vince Camuto. The dressy, sexy, classy shoe in the light blue color.
Manolo says, the topic for the next Carnivale of the Couture it is now posted at the blog of the Coquette. Here is the topic:
As we look ahead to Fall season next month, what is one item of clothing you will miss in your Summer wardrobe and what is one item you are coveting for Fall?
This it is the very good question.
As for the Manolo, when the seasons change from the summer into the fall, the Manolo he will bid the fond adieu to his summer wardrobe, and he will say “hello old friend” to his fall wardrobe.
The Manolo, he is the passionate believer in the idea that everything has the season (turn, turn, turn). the autumn, and there is little that he will miss.