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Like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern….

The sneaker is dead. Like ding-dong dead! WTF?! Who says? I didn’t get the memo! They were a mere “blip” on the fashion coolness monitor for…like…ten seconds. News flash: they have flat-lined. Bummer! So what’s going to distract me from the insanity of the sneaker (hey, look…squirrel)? My feet still need some time to recuperate from the toe cleavage debacle of 2014 that left my digits looking like the bound foot of an Imperial Chinese concubine (thanks, Anna Wintour), so I’m not quite ready to let go of comfort right now. What will the style mavens and influencers bequeath upon us in return for this rash decision?!

THE LOAFER! Ah, yes! Invented by the Norse and made for the farmer. Comfort AND practicality. But this blue collar shoe is taking the couture industry by storm by golly: Gucci, Prada, and the likes are selling out of their versions like they’re going out of style (well…wait a second).  Since it’s a cousin to the brogue (and I have quite the brogue-mance going on with mine), I take the change in stride.

The loafer is back, and the sneaker is in trouble. Hey nah! Hey nah! The loafer is back!

Ugh! Does this mean I have to bury my sneakers in order to love the loafer? Not necessarily! I’m not over the sneaker just yet (still need to get me some Fierce Core Puma’s à la Rhianna and a vintage pair of Jeremy Scott Adidas)! I predict they will have a plot in the back of my closet (next to the gladiators) as I cavort with this new-found obsession.

Since the loafer has similar qualities to the brogue, I decide that I’m all in. They’re slightly masculine but built for the ever-so stylish woman. Hence: mannish. Versatile and comfortable to boot (a pun?). The style is right up my alley because I like to mix masculine and feminine; old and new; punk and classy…you get the point, right?! Well, they have grown on me by now, and I am giddy in love. So there! I said it. I professed my love of the loafer.

So, here are a few versions of the loafer that I’ve come to accept–reluctantly–over the sneaker. All of them are vintage in order to fit within my teacher budget, although I did have to arm wrestle Ye Olde Ceramic Pig for the Chanels.

 Loafer 6 Loafer 4 Loafer 7Loafer 5 Loafer 15 Loafer 16 Loafer 10 Loafer 9  Loafer 8 Loafer 17 Loafer 2 Loafer 14 Loafer 13 Loafer 12  Loafer 11 Loafer close up



Calling Kuwait….

I think it was Bette Midler who said, “I believe with the right footwear, one can rule the world.” She was definitely on to something. My sister told me that she and her daughter set the standard for their shoe obsession based on an experience I had with a pair of Stella McCartney stilettos.  I’m just going to tell it like it is:  I called a boutique in Kuwait to find a pair of Stella McCartney shoes I had been obsessing over.  These were no ordinary shoes though. They were the first of it’s couture kind: vegan friendly, faux patent perfection, and made by a Beatle’s daughter (a fashion rock star in her own rite).

In college I ate Top Ramen noodles for a solid month to save money to purchase a pair of YSL platforms that I definitely could not afford.  I delayed rent money (a.k.a Peter) in order to pay Neiman Marcus (a.k.a Paul).  You get my drift. So here I was, post 9/11.  The world was obsessed with Saddam and I was obsessed with Stella.  McCartney had just stepped out on her own after an amazing eight seasons with the house of Chloe.  She had me at “hello” with these shoes.  I was in deep. Real deep.

Before the fashion world hit the internet market, one had to cold call the stores to find what they wanted. If you were not a celebrity with a platinum credit card, you ranked low on the fashion food chain. It was not looking good for lil’  ol’ me.

Having sold out of all size 7.5’s in the entire continental United States, I turned my sights on Europe.  A hundred dollar phone bill later, I still didn’t have my Stella’s.  Now I was pissed, mixed with a little desperation. Last ditch effort: the Middle East. I had heard that women spent an exorbitant amount of money on shoes, so they were locked and loaded with all the latest boutiques. After several phone calls and a quick practice of “hello, do you speak English?” in modern Arabic, I found my shoes in Kuwait. You know, the lil’ ol’ country to the south of Iraq. The one that Saddam invaded. The irony!

For all I know, I have an FBI file because of these shoes.

Who the hell cares!

They’re Stella fucking McCartney, folks!

Stella Akbar!

Stella Pumps 4 Stella Pumps 3 Stella Pumps 2  Stella Pumps 9  Stella Pumps final Stella Pumps 7 Stella pumps final 2 Two Jumpsuits 7