Manolo asks, whose shoes?
Manolo says, here are the few links which may perhaps amuse…
Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk, working in the coal mine, going down, down, down. Well, perhaps it is not exactly that bad, but you know, now that spring has sprung you wish you could be outside, sniffing the flowers and watching the bunnies frolic in the meadow.
But, what can you do? You must trade your time and honest efforts for someone else’s moneys
And, besides, it is not as if you know how to use your own time so well.
Indeed, you just had two whole days away from your place of employment, and so is it your boss’s fault that you spent it sitting on the couch watching NCAA basketball and doing the laundry?
Oh, to live in Candyland, where every day is bright with color and filled sweet treats!
Look! Here is the Izzie from Kate Spade.
If cutesy-wootsy lady bugs cannot lift your spirits, you are beyond the help of the Manolo
Manolo says here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
One of my best friends is getting married in late April, and I’ve been saddled with bridesmaid duty. The dresses my friend has picked for us are a sky blue color that is especially unflattering with my skin tone. Luckily, we’re allowed to choose our own shoes, so now I turn to you to help me find something that will make up for the dress. Please help.
Manolo says, the Manolo’s friend is very lucky indeed that she was at the least able to wear shoes to this wedding. Many of the Manolo’s friends report that among the recent wedding trends is for the young bride and her maids to completely dispense with the wearing of the shoes, on the double theory that it will save the monies, and prevent the possibility of tripping over the various hems and trains and dressly folderol.
Of the course, if you say the words “barefoot wedding” to the Manolo he immediately thinks of either the marriage of Starshine Moonfall to her “old man” Coyote, or else the ceremony that prominently features rousing banjo music and jugs of “corn likker”, neither of which is likely to be featured in the latest glossy edition of Snooty and Expensively Bankrupting Weddings Weekly.
But, chacun à son gout.
Look! Here is the Rey from Badgley Mischka the silvery, beaded strappy sandal.
Manolo says, it is Thursday, and you are all wound up and ready for the weekend to arrive because, for the first time in months, clement weather has been forecasted by the Channel 11 man of weather, Skip “Stormy” Steele (née Ranulph Grabble).
It has been the long and dreary winter, to say the least, and you are ready for it to be over, and even the slightest hint that Spring (Glorious Spring!!!) is in the offing is enough to send you into the frenzy of plan-making.
“A Picnic!,” you shouted to no one in particular when Stormy Steel announced sunshine and temperatures in the low 60s, “a picnic at the park, with small cucumber sandwiches and cold fried chicken and watermelon and potato salad…maybe red potato salad…and fruit-flavored iced tea…”
Your mind raced with the possibilities of frolicsome summery entertainment, never mind that any watermelon you could find would have been air freighted in from New Zealand and cost more than your first car, the 1968 Saab 96. (It looked like the upside down bathtub, and had 3 and the half on the tree, and the strange freewheeling thingy, and seemed to be designed by people who had heard about cars but had never actually seen one in person).
Time to take the deep breath.
Yes, the first day of spring is nearly here, but unless you live in the more southerly parts of North America (like perhaps Tegucigalpa or Cozumel) the weather is not yet all that. Soon, but not yet.
In the meantime, you know what you need, jelly sandals, like these, the Sunny Jelly Flats from Fendi.
Soon, my precious, soon.
The Manolo politely reminds you that he is now become part of the Facebook Nation.
You may ‘friend’ him if you wish, and the Manolo will certainly befriend you back, provided you are not one of the various bots, viruses, or simulacra which are reputedly infesting the Facebook.
Manolo says, accept no substitutes, even for your ridiculous Ugg boots.
But medical experts have warned that the trend for cheap Ugg boots is a price too high to pay.
They have said that knock-off versions of the designer boots are crippling a generation of young women, ‘literally breaking’ their feet.
With just six months of wear women could saddle themselves with a lifetime of foot deformities, backache and pain in their feet.
And a phrase has even been coined for the gait of devoted wearers – the Ugg ‘shuffle’ – which describes the lopsided, pigeon-toed way in which cheap versions of the boots force women to walk.
But low-cost imitations often provide inadequate foot support.
With each step the wearer’s feet slide around. This can cause the feet to splay which flattens the foot arch and leads to wear and tear on the joints in the feet, knees, hips and back.
As a result leading podiatrist and chiropodists have seen a stark rise in the number of women suffering toe deformities, backache and pain in their feet.
It is so true!
One minute you are shambling along in your fake Uggs…
And the next…
Manolo says, it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is…
It is nearly St. Patrick’s Day, with all that means for people who like to drink too much green beer, listen to diddly-diddly fiddle music, fist fight with the authorities, and pretend to weep about the “auld sod”. In short, it is time to drink and think romantically about the Irish.
And yet, strangely, attempts to anti-romanticize the Irish experience are even more compellingly romantic than the old-fashioned Emerald Isle blather. Shane MacGowan, Martin McDonagh, and even those insufferable frauds, the McCourt brothers, describe the Irish condition in horrific and unpleasant terms. And yet we lap it all up and continue to schedule our Dublin vacations. Very curious, no?
Of the course, the Manolo, although not the least bit Irish, is as guilty as the rest, and completely enjoys the Pogues and the McDonagh plays and all of that (although he would happily push the entire McCourt tribe into the ocean), even as he wonders about what it all means.
What is one to do when saddled with the contradictory desires for authenticity and entertainment?
P.S. If Darby O’Gill = Uncle Remus for Irish People, then the Pogues = N.W.A. for Irish People. Discuss amongst yourselves.
Manolo says, here are the few links which may perhaps amuse…
With the cost of entry into the fashion blogosphere next to nothing, infinite would-be bloggers and the transparent nature of blogs, the only thing differentiating each blog is its unique human capital.