Alexander McQueen Samurai Strappy Sandals for the Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk agitated and annoyed by your coworkers, which, given the nature of the modern working place is not unusual.

On the one of the hands, the actual work itself would be made immediately better if most of your coworkers were magically transported back to the Jurassic Age.

On the other of the hands, you are something of the social animal. Who would you eat lunch with if not your friends Jenny and Jane? Who would bring you the gossip from the accounting department circus if not the Brenda? How would you make it through the day if Deadpan Mike did not make his hilarious quips?

And then you get out the piece of paper, draw the line down the center, and write two words at the top of the page, on the left, “Lifeboat”, and on the right, “Sharks”.

You write Jenny, Jane, Mike, Brenda, Nice Greg from IT, and six or seven more names of those who should be allowed to join you in the Dunder Mifflin corporate lifeboat.

On the right, the chum list immediately grows to unsustainable proportions, 30 names in the first instant, and growing. It is so bad that you are reduced to using the nicknames and silly descriptions because you do not even know the names of the doomed: Curly Surly Girl, Mr. Bigshot, The Dinky Dork….

And while you are engrossed in this most satisfying exercise, someone unexpectedly steps into your cubicle.

“Hey, whacha doing?”

You hurriedly flip the page over, and look over your shoulder. Oh, thank goodness. It is just the Deadpan Mike.

“Looks like a corporate restructuring,” he says.

“It was just a, er, um, um…”

“I couldn’t really see. Did I make it into the lifeboat?”

You turn the page back over and point to his name.

“Oh, good. Don’t forget to feed Frankly Fran to the sharks.”

Frankly Fran! This is why the Deadpan Mike has earned his place in the lifeboat, because he both extra observant and extra funny. Who else but Mike would have noticed that Frances the World’s Most Annoying Actuary had the verbal tick which involved starting most sentences with the word “frankly”.

And then you have the unorthodox idea that perhaps it is the aggravating people who make your job somewhat interesting, by providing fodder for amusement.


Look! Ridiculously tall shoes from the Alexander McQueen…

Alexander Mcqueen Samurai Strappy Sandal

The Samurai Strappy Sandal from Alexander McQueen with the six inches heel and platform combination that is almost silly, and yet somehow compelling.


Manolo the Columnist: Malana from Badgley Mischka

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

Dear Manolo,

One of my best friends, who had done very well for herself, is having a swanky birthday bash at ’21 Club’ in Manhattan. My problem is that I live in Oklahoma, and although I used to live in New York back in the day, 15 years ago, I’ve been a stay at home mom since. I have picked out my little black dress, now I need some shoes. Please help.


Manolo says, ayyy! The Country Mouse Goes to Town!

In the first half of the movie, the country mouse, at the invitation of her friend, Sarah Jessica Rodent, will live out her most fabulous high-life fantasies in Mousehattan! Imagine, then, the montage of the two mices together, one in the homespun coat, the other carrying the tiny Hermes Birkin bag, getting the makeover at the finest shops in the city, dining on the gourmet cheeses, and then discoing the night away at the Studio Ratty-Four.

Of the course, on the way home, they are mugged by the cat.

In the second half, the country mouse must teach the city mouse the heartfelt lesson about the simple life on the open prairie, where the mices wear the cowboy boots and drive the toy-sized Ford pickup trucks and eat the chicken fried cheese.

Here is the Malana from Badgley Mischka, the edgy urban sandal that will transmogrify even the most retiring country girl.

Malana from Badgley Mischka

High Heels and Billiards: A Personal Journey

N.B. In today’s guest blogging, the Manolo’s talented friend, the omgwtf, explains how high heels and billiards have changed her life.

Playing Billiards in Heels

omgwtf playing billiards in high heels

I began playing pool at eighteen. By nineteen, in all my ungainly glory, I had the brilliant thought that I should become a professional player.

I had ZERO skills. In fact, I had problems with the first shot of the game, the break shot.

The break is where you break the racked object balls apart with the cue ball. When done right, it’s as impressive as one of Tiger Woods’ long drives – all power, accuracy, and grace combined in one seamless, flawless, fluid motion. The key words there are “when done right”.

I had power but no grace. When I broke the balls (arms flailing, feet tripping), more often than not, I slammed my hand into the side of the table. Having swollen knuckles on my right index finger became a normal thing until a fashionable friend suggested I try wearing heels – being taller might help my hand miss the side of the table during my swing to break the balls.

I’d been a competitive runner almost my entire life and had never owned a pair of shoes that wouldn’t allow me to flee authorities at top speed in relative comfort (I was somewhat of a delinquent in my younger years). So, I bought a cheap pair of chunky-heeled loafers at a swap meet which made me three inches taller.

Soon, I was breaking the balls successfully without breaking my knuckles.

In hindsight, heels were not the solution. They were only a quick fix. What I truly needed was practice to improve my technique. I did improve to where heels weren’t necessary, but, by then, I was used to playing at a five-foot-four height.

I began to play competitively in tournaments.

Many players dismissed me as non-threat once they saw my choice in footwear. I didn’t blame them. Billiards was a game of finesse and how a player balanced herself (or himself) was very important. Solid footing meant more consistency in the execution of movement. Solid footing also generally meant having one’s entire foot on the ground. No serious player would risk teetering around the table in high heels. I took advantage of being underestimated and translated those instances into wins.

In the often dark-clothed and flat-footed world of pool, more people began to take notice of the “little girl in high shoes”. As more people associated me with my high heels, I took more notice of shoes in general. I became aware of the truly staggering variety and styles of shoes in the world. I no longer bought shoes based on height alone. I looked specifically for unusual, eye-catching shoes that could handle a fourteen-hour tournament day. In a predominantly male game populated by flat shoes, I had stumbled upon a way to be stylishly different.

I got better at the game and began to gamble at it.

The amounts I wagered varied from your average pair of Stuart Weitzmans to a few pairs of Christian Louboutins. Even when four-digit sums were at stake, I continued to play in heels, to the surprise of many. People asked, “Why? Why would you play in heels?” My standard answer: “Why not?” All that mattered was having solid footing and I had that, even in stilettos. Besides, my wins and losses were never due to the shoes I wore, but to me, the player, and how well I played.

Eventually, my collection of shoes became a sort of savings account. When I needed funds for tournaments or a stake for gambling (I gambled exclusively with my own money), I would look through my closet and sell off pairs as I needed. This was a convenient and practical way to thin out my herd of footwear. If I won, then I had room for new shoes. If I lost, then I had more closet room. It was a win-win situation.

In all the long years I’ve played this game, shoes have run the gamut for me. They’ve been practical. They’ve been beautiful. They’ve given me a unique identity in an often boring game and culture. They’ve even funded my adventures. But, there’s one more thing.

Pool has always been seen as a “man’s” game and any woman who plays will inevitably run into sexism about how “girls can’t play pool”. Therefore, I get a certain indescribable satisfaction when I beat a guy who proudly says, “I’ve never been beat by a girl before”, while wearing strappy green suede stiletto sandals adorned with a delicate feather pouf at the toes. That satisfaction increases exponentially when his friend looks at my shoes and tells him, “Dude. You just got beat by Tinkerbell.”


Keira Goes Green

We’ve all done it. You find a great pair of shoes. You wear them out on Monday. While composing your outfit on Tuesday, you find the urge to wear the same lovely pair a second time overwhelming. But a second time in a row?

We recycle bottles and cans, we recycle sitcoms, we recycle old boyfriends, but what about shoes? Will your legion of admirers notice?  Are you the only righteous fashionista who would do such a thing?

Apparently not.

The ever so beautiful Keira Knightley was photographed two nights in a row wearing the same adorable brown lace-up flats while out in London. I highly doubt the reason for this fashion faux pas was Keira’s lack of shoe selection, so what possessed the starlet to recycle her kicks? The world may never know. However, I must say, I am astonished at her ability to pull off two completely unique looks with the same simple slip-ons.

Keira Knightly in brown flats

Night one: Keira looks flirtatious and feminine in her almost Catholic Schoolgirl inspired look.

Keira Knightly in brown flats
Night two: An entirely new look! She looks sleek, sophisticated and edgy with her leather jacket and high waisted pants. Bravo!

No need for atonement Keira, you pulled this repeat off. I applaud you!

Whose Shoes Wednesday…The Answer!

Manolo asked, whose shoes?

Jane Lynch Shoes

Manolo answers, it is the Jane Lynch!

Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend the Teresa K, who was the first to correctly identify this week’s gleeful personage of note.

P.S. Has the Manolo mentioned that he is now almost entirely over the Glee! thing? The almost is reserved for the Jane Lynch, who still makes the Manolo laugh. Otherwise, the show, it is hectoring, predictable, and tiresome.

Whose Shoes Wednesday

Manolo asks, whose shoes?


Leave Rebecca Black Alone!

Manolo says, the entire interwebs are in the uproarious uproar over the ridiculous and inane pop video from the moderately untalented singing teen girl named Rebecca Black.

Frankly, the Manolo does not see what is about all of the fuss.

Yes, the lyrics are silly, and the girl’s voice, or what can be heard of it through the auto-tuning, is not especially good, and the rap break is perhaps the little bit creepy, but otherwise this is not even close to being the Worst Song Ever. Indeed, it admirably fulfills the pop necessity of catchieness, sticking in your head long after you wish it would go far, far away.

However, what the contrarian Manolo appreciates the most is that this video is so innocently innocent.

Rather than the hyper-sexualized Cryus-beast, gyrating lewdly to the salacious music, we have the real-life, dippy, thirteen-year-old girl innocently singing about hangin’ with her extra double dippy friends…

Rebecca Black: Fun, fun, fun, fun

In the land of the super dippy, the slightly less dippy girl is queen.

The video for the “Friday” is refreshing and honest and silly, and it makes the Manolo unexpectedly happy. There is none of that pose of adult dissipation and sexual knowingness that makes much of the teen pop music tiresome. It is just the silly fun video.

So, please, leave the Rebecca Black alone. She is having fun.


FN Shoe Star, Episode 8

Manolo says, the eighth episode of the FN Shoe Star is now available for your viewing pleasure. This is the episode where one of the contestants, the loser of the first challenge, is sent away.

To the mind of the Manolo, this was the best episode yet, as it was mostly about the shoes the designers put forward for the competition, and free of the tiresome contrived drama that plagues the reality television shows.

The thing that the Manolo especially appreciated was that the judged discussed each shoe intelligently and sympathetically.

The Edelmans of the Brown Shoe company were predictably focused on the marketability of each shoe, and yet the Manolo did not mind this because their reasons for favoring Matthew over the others were honest and comprehensible.

And, in end it was Maggie who was given the boot, which should be counted as the stroke of luck for Shannon, whose convertible shoe was bad, very bad indeed.

And now it is on to the next challenge.

Signs That Things Are Not Well in the World

N.B. The Manolo’s friend, The Legatrix, who always makes the Manolo laugh, offers us nothing but portents of doom.

The Manolo has been gently scaring us straight with his series of blog posts, The Death of Civilization. In that spirit, I offer you a variation on a theme.

You see, I have a theory. Okay, I have several theories, but this is the one doesn’t involve Soviet vodka, rhesus monkeys, and Vaseline.

Certain fashion trends portend widespread cultural decline. I don’t care whether it comes riding in with the Visigoths or on a wave of Stagflation, nothing says “stock up on canned food and good books because the Kardashians are in charge” like bad fashion trends.

Case in point: the Bad Perm.

Julia Titi Flavia

Julia Titi Flavia

This is the kind of hair you have when your dad just sacked Jerusalem, shacked up with a Jewish Princess, and decided to fix you up with your uncle. Oh, and Rome has just been through four emperors in one year. (On the up side, none of them was Nero.)

And we all know that no good came of the Seventies except for Donna Summer. And fondue parties.

Barbara Streisand goes perm


But lest you think the bad perm is a singularly female vice, consider Charles II of England. Sure, Chuck, you may primp that mane to make it more difficult for the executioner to find your neck, like he did your dad’s, but do you know what that coiffure really is? It’s a cry for help. London is burning, everybody is coming down with the Plague, and you’ve got more mistresses than you can possibly afford.

Charles II, By the Grace of God, King of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Jheri Curl

Odds fish what an ugly fellow I am.

At times like these, there’s only one thing to do: put on your tight pants and get a little Super Freaky.

I'm Rick James, Bitch.

Rick James has a Sexual Luv Affair for you.


Corey Feldman: Charlie Sheen’s Understudy

Corey Feldman was photographed out in Hollywood last night looking fresh faced and not at all insane. He has been in the news lately due to his harsh tongue lashings towards Oscar producers for leaving his late friend Corey Haim out of the “In Memoriam” segment, and apparently he has made the decision to take his rage out out on his appearance.

Unless his hair is some subtle tribute to Flock of Seagulls, a band whose popularity coincides with the last time Feldman did anything noteworthy, it’s simply unacceptable.  On top of that, the over sized jacket paired with baggy pants and clunky shoes is not doing it for me. He looks like a child dressing up as what they’d imagine an adult miscreant to look like in order to go out drinking in Hollywood, which coincidentally would have been a great role for Feldman in his pre-teen prime.

I blame whoever fed him after midnight.


Dillon from Michael Kors for the Day after the Day of St. Patrick

Dillon from Kors by Michael Kors

Manolo says, because of the the green beer and Bushmills, which you consumed to excess last evening, you would rather forget about the Dia del San Patricio, but the Manolo cannot help himself. When he saw these green shoes from the Michael Kors he wanted to show them to you.

Spring is coming! Think green!

The Weekly Deals

Manolo says, elsewhere in the Manolosphere, at the Manolo for the Big Girls, Miss Plumcake has the round up of bargains, and at the Manolo for the Beauty, Glinda has found the variety of excellent deals.