Stuart Weitzman Jardin For the Monday

Manolo says, the Manolo arose late this morning, the consequence of Daylight Saving Time and perhaps, possibly, staying out very late drinking many bottles of wine and tumblers of bourbon with his friends.

In any event, here is something pretty and perfect for your spring cocktail parties: the flowery Jardin from Stuart Weitzman.

Jardin from Stuart WeitzmanJardin from Stuart Weitzman

And now the Manolo must go put some ice on his head and crack open the new bottle of aspirin.


Both Furious and Triste

Time for Santa to Take Out the Trash

Manolo says, there are the all too frequent moments in fashion when the movie Zoolander seems like the documentary. Behold this scene recorded by Guy Trebay of the New York Times at the end of the Evil One’s most recent Chanel show (the theme of which was apparently, “Sexy Yetis Visit the Fortress of Solitude“).

But there was also a Woody Allen moment, and it occurred after the last of the models, clad in fake fur Wookie-wear, had sloshed through the puddles and offstage, and a small group of Mr. Lagerfeld’s industry friends tried to see and congratulate him.

For reasons that were not altogether clear but may have had something to do with pooled water and electrical cables lying about, the security guards formed a human wall blocking the Vogue editors Tonne Goodman and Grace Coddington; the Vanity Fair correspondent Ingrid Sischy; Lady Amanda Harlech; Babeth Djian, the editor of Numéro; and Jonathan Newhouse, the chairman of Condé Nast International, from going backstage.

BlackBerrys were fired up. Frantic calls were dialed. Well-shod hooves were stamped. Ms. Sischy upbraided the security force, assuring them that Mr. Lagerfeld would be both furious and “triste” if prevented from seeing his adoring fans. But the guards would not be budged. Passage backstage was impossible!Evil on Ice!

Then, in an abrupt reversal familiar to anyone who has ever encountered French bureaucracy, they changed their minds. The guards moved away, and the small crowd surged en masse to where Mr. Lagerfeld posed beside his ice sculpture surrounded on three sides by television crews. Still separated from her friend and idol, Ms. Sischy called out plaintively.

“Karl, Karl, Karl,” she trilled, and for a moment one was not in Paris at all but on a floe in the Arctic Ocean, on a fragment of ice snapped off the glacial shelf. “Karl, Karl,” Ms. Sischy called, her cry like that of a baby seal.

…ripe for the clubbing.

Going Gray

Manolo says, our friend Christa (a.k.a. Never teh Bride) is this week all about the color gray.


Manolo the Columnist: Flora from 7 for All Mankind

Here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.

Dear Manolo,

After a rather sketchy dating history with the typical boorish young men, I’ve become infatuated with a young slam poet, who’s invited me to attend one of his performances. I’m wearing a vintage floral wrap dress, what do you suggest in the way of shoes?


Manolo says, ayyyy! To be young and in love with the modern slam poet! What could be more dreamily romantic than to be heels over the head for the man who shouts profane couplets into microphones?

And perhaps, after the suitable period of time, our young friend will even become his permanent muse!

“Honey bunch,” he asks one morning at the breakfast table, pencil in hand, “what rhymes with ‘Dick Cheney’s Gestapo boot’?”

“I’m not sure, Snuggums,” she answers from behind the Post, “what are you working on?”

“Oh, I’m just writing you a new love poem,” he says, helping himself to another rasher of bacon.

“Oooooh, you’re so darling,” she coos, folding the morning paper over, “how about, ‘Martha Stewart bosco fruit’?”

“Capital!” he answers, licking the end of the pencil and applying it to his Big Chief tablet.

“Yikes! Honey,” she says looking at the wall clock, “You better hurry, or you’ll be late for the office!”

“Oh, shoot,” he answers, standing up, putting on his coat and adjusting his tie, “I better take the minivan.”

And to think, this romantic scene began when she wore these beautiful sandals, the Flora from 7 for All Mankind to the poetry slam.

Flora from 7 for All Mankind


Cinderella with the Pots and the Pans

Cinderella by Joana Vasconcelos

Manolo says, this intriguing photo from the Yahoo of the artwork entitled Cinderella, inspired the Manolo to look up the person who produced this work, the Portuguese artist Joana Vasconcelos.

And mira! She has done several pieces like this!

Here is Dorothy.

Dorothy by Joana Vasconcelos

And what is the unusual material from which these giant shiny shoes are constructed?


Hilarity from Miss Plumcake

Manolo says, Miss Plumcake makes the Manolo laugh out loud with this: Why (most) Men Don’t Have Body Issues.


The Manolo on Facebook

Manolo says, after dozens of his internet friends have asked him, the Manolo has decided to join Facebook.

Manolo on Facebook

You may ‘friend’ him if you so desire. He will most likely ‘friend’ you back, thus completing the great circle of social media life.


Scenes from The Celebrity Marriage

Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference. --Charlie Chaplin

But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.
–George Eliot

Whose Shoes Wednesday…The Answer!

Manolo asked, whose shoes?

Mo'Nique Shoes!

Manolo answers, it is the Mo’Nique!

Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend, BetsyPHD, for being the first to correctly identify this week’s Oscar-winning personage of note.

Whose Shoes Wednesday

Manolo asks, whose shoes?

What the Manolo Is…

Manolo says, it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is…


Listening to…


This is the week of Meh. The book, Then We Came to the End. Meh. Yes, it is written entirely in the first person plural, but that does not make up for its meh-ness. It is too contrived by half, and too unfunny by half.

The movie Coco Before Chanel. Meh. Yes, it is all about Coco Chanel, which should furnish the screenwriters with tons of salacious early-20th century fodder. But, instead of the fabulous soap opera, it is turned into the stately costume pageant with the luminous Audrey Tatou. This is the subject which requires the actress who is more earthy and more crazy. And thus in this incarnation it is merely meh.

Thank goodness for Beverly Sills in the Tales of Hoffman.