Manolo says, here is the Tonie from Elie Tahari, the dramatic high-heeled evening sandal that is guaranteed to make any entrance grand, and look! It is on the sale, 70% off of the regular price! The savings of more than $350!
Manolo says, here are the few links which may provide some entertainment…
So is it weird that as fashion blogs grow, they’re beginning to resemble the traditional print magazines they’re supposedly supplanting?
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Get yourself in the middle of the catwalk photographers. They’re big, they’re angry, and they’ll wait for nobody. When they move, you move.
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At the time I was less struck by the cranky, casual bigotry of the statement (a great deal of Vonnegut’s advice sounds as if it was rasped between grandfatherly coughing fits) than by the thrilling starkness of the prohibition.
Manolo says, the other day, on the Facebook, the Manolo was complaining about the samey-sameness of most of the stylebloggers.
The Manolo must have looked at 20,000 style blogs over the past few days, some of them exceedingly popular, and all of them featuring the same clothes, the same poses, the same washed-out, overexposed style of photography.
Time for the change!
The Manolo decrees: the washed-out style photos are all washed up. Color is the new black!
Out = Identical style bloggers all obsessed with being part of the in crowd
In = Crazy girls who throw on the clothes they love and dare you to criticize them!
Above all else, what agitated the Manolo was the ubiquity of the washed-out, vintage-looking photos, photos that use the Instagram filter to excess, in every possible case.
To which the Manolo says, Death to the Instagram filter!
Happily, however, the trend appears to be abating. How does the Manolo know this? The latest Madonna video, “Turn Up The Radio,” …
P.S. No need to watch the entire tiresome affair. You will get the idea after the first ten seconds: Madonna suffers from soul-wrenching ennui, which she cures with random casual sex and bad pop music played loudly.
Manolo says, it is Monday, the first day of the new week of laboring, and already you are less than gruntled with your coworkers, one of whom is the unknown sneak-thief, the others of whom do not take the on-going threat of sneak-thievery seriously.
Earlier, when you took your mid-morning break, you discovered that someone had purloined your fruit-on-the-bottom yoghurt from the refrigerator in the break room. Normally, such things would roll off your back as the water does from the duck boots, but this, outrageously, was the third time in the past month that something similar has happened. First it was the crackers from the Trader Joes, you know the ones with the rosemary and raisins, and then, two weeks ago, it was (do not laugh) your stapler which disappeared from your desk and has yet to resurface.
Unfortunately, the few minutes ago, when you expressed your outrage to your best office pal, Julia, her reply was less than helpful.
“Forget it, it’s Chinatown,” she said.
Which, while true, did not assuage your burning ire. You had clearly placed the sticky note with your name written on it, on that cherry yoghurt. And so, when you went to have your little snack the few minutes ago, and discovered no yoghurt and the note stuck to the jar of ancient pickle relish (which office archeology has dated to the early Rummelkin Dynasty), you almost blew the gasket.
Your brief investigation in the break room turned up no evidence of foul play, no empty yoghurt carton in the trash can, no cherry bestained spoons in the sink.
This has only strengthened your desire to solve this heinous crime, to crack this case wide open and bring the unknown perp to justice. Indeed, your head is filled with the million-billion plans for exacting revenge, each more improbable and offensive than the last, each more likely to result in your summary dismissal from employment.
Manolo says, what is needed now is to take the little breath, calm down, relax.
So, hunger impelled one of your coworkers to take your yoghurt.
If any of them had asked, would you not have given that yoghurt to even the worst of them? Consider it the act of laudable generosity, and console yourself with shoes!
Here is the Vara Patent Leather Kitten Heel Pump from Salvatore Ferragamo, the perfect example of its type; the Platonic, red kitten heel of your dreams.
Who has time for trivial things like missing yoghurt when such shoes exist!