Number 77

Many years ago I was bitten by a bug.  A bug that is exuberant with wordless expression, physical violence and simple acute joy.   These four pairs are leftovers from dreams past.  They are in pretty good condition given what dancers put their shoes and themselves through - brute force wrapped in beauty.

I was never able to follow through completely - injury took that possibility away - but I fill with gratitude for the time I did have in a studio and on a stage.  There was blood, there was sweat, there were tears.  I loved it all.

There are people in my life who share this bug or have seen parts of it in my life.  Thank you to you all.  You know who you are and I know the little smile that is creeping across your face as you think back over everything we have done together.  I am smiling back!

Today, I keep my bug at bay by avoiding it.  Nevertheless, it is a fundamental part of who I am and it is impossible to excise this part of my life from myself.  It will always be my heart, my soul and myself.

Thank you for reading.  I have loved writing this blog and embarrassing myself into acknowledging that I have a distinct shoe problem.  It's been a good lesson in gluttony!  I wonder if I will ever learn.....

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77'th Shoe Eve

So, this is the long and the pink of it: three shoes, 24 hours and lots of questions.  I've had to cram in the last few pairs of shoes because tomorrow I leave the country and technology behind for a short while.  

Squished together before you I present a long legged favourite of mine: witchey-poo meets Paris (not Hilton).  She is a soft black suede that sits just above the knee and dips down at the back.  She's so simple, she's sexy.  I like an understated twinkle in my boot's eye.  The salmon flat was an accident - a remedy to a shopping trip gone blistered.  The pink bootie is delicious.

In 24 hours I will reveal my last shoe, Mistress 77, and then I will leave.  Mistress 77 is my heart.  She is my insides and myself.  I hope you like her.  

I will miss you once you meet her and this blog is complete.  Thank you for reading.

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Australia

Well, what can I say?  I can't legitimately call myself an Australian resident without one pair of well worn Uggs.

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Cream coloured pony

These boots blow my mind.  From their pony hairs to the laser etching, I am drawn in.  High on heeled happiness.  The only aspect that snaps me out of my trance is the clunky heel.  Truthfully though, I'm not sure how any other heel would work.  They are supposed to be a play on cowgirl so it is probable that anything else would be confusing or lack authenticity.

So, I calm the twist in my stomach and go back to the cream dream.  It's amore, for sure.

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Michael Jackson

Hands up who doesn't know how to grab their bits and screech "oWwww!"?  Today's boots are black, tomorrow's are white.  I couldn't help but make the Michael Jackson connection.

My darling hearted friend Marianne and her brother, Mikey do a great MJ rendition.  They clearly practiced a lot. All their moves are slick and their "oWwww!"'s, perfection.  Best of all you can see the "kids" in their eyes.      

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3 brown boots and a wedding steak

There is something deeply cosy about brown.  To me it is the colour of warmth and love.  In Anne of Green Gables, the dress Matthew buys for newly homed orphan Anne is a rich chocolate brown that makes her radiate with gratitude and humility.

Before Queen Victoria f*cked weddings up for the western bridal population, brown was a favoured colour for brides.  She started the trend that blindly prevails today and is embraced by people who are failed by it.  It was only after Queen Victoria wore white that the (non) colour took off as first choice for bridal colour.  The assertion that white has anything to do with virtue is a nonsense and historically incorrect.  I can't help but laugh at the blindness with which white is worn at weddings.  I am a stickler for thought, I do need to chill out and I realise that other people don't see the world the same way I do, but the way I am made means I would lack integrity and find it terribly difficult to forgive myself if I made a blind choice.

I find wedding cakes hilarious, for example.  Few people ever appear to asks themselves "why?", they just blindly trot on ahead, presumably because bride.com told them to do so.  The world according to sheep.  Wedding cakes also have a long tradition, but I guarantee you the vast majority of brides have zero clue.  I like wedding cakes but what happens if the bridal couple are more savoury than sweet type people?  How about cutting a wedding steak?

I have digressed into my own insanity.  I think these things, for sure, but I can also take a deep breath, get out of my own mind and shake it off.  Shaken...... Each of these boots has their own character.  I love that the feminine cowboy boots have their own detachable bling, that the middle pair slouch warmly and the pair to the left are so soft it makes me squeak with happiness every time I put them on (even though they are heel-less amputees).

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three by three

In six days I am leaving the Southern Hemisphere on a shoe buying mission cleverly disguised as a trip to the US and Europe to visit friends.  Actually, I was only supposed to be going to NYC to visit my absolute darling friend Ruth who I miss very much and can't wait to spend time with.  Then, all of a sudden this and that came up and now my trip has turned into an "around the world".  Ce la vie.  I'll just have to go back to NYC to see Ruth again soon.

In order to get through my shoes to the mystical number 77 I have to triple up.  I hope you understand.  Perhaps when I return from my travels I will have another 77 to speak and dream about.

Apologies for the quality of the photo.  My camera simply wasn't playing ball today.  The photo depicts three very different types of shoe:  one peep toed bootie with lazer cut out decoration, pink wedged sandals from Brazil and a peep toed pump with sweet cut leather.  Makes me think of goldie locks and the three bears (Daddy was clearly a cross dresser).

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Just do it

I wonder who at Nike came up with that slogan and how they were rewarded.  It would seem a crime if they weren't starfished by water in some exotic location ad infinitum after a brain wave like that.

Creativity is a very interesting thing.  It sets people apart and inspires others to action.

I know many creative people across many spheres of creativity.  Some of them are rewarded for their creativity and some are not.  It's imponderable.  Though if I was to ponder I would say that the value is arbitrary and tends to be based on mass thought rather than merit.  To my mind, this borders on tragedy.

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Another Brazil story....

These blue sweetums go with the oddly similar pair of black sweetums that I spoke about earlier in this shoe odyssey.  I adore each of them.  I couldn't decide between them - who could pick a favourite star in the sky?  So, I bought them both.  Piggy.

The first time I wore them was out in Lagoa, Florianopolis.  It was steamy hot and we thought it would be a brilliant idea to go to a samba club and get even warmer.  The samba clubs of Brazil are unanimously fabulous.  My view is probably compromised a little - I was in Brazil for such a short time I didn't have time to be anything but dazzled by it.

Even so, I can't imagine ever being bored by the place.  It's like eating, drinking and breathing fun all day long.  These shoes in the samba club in Lagoa were no exception.  They carried me all night long until I could be carried no more and we dragged ourselves home, happy and barefoot with shoes in hand.

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Pretty Parisian

An April or two ago I went to Paris for "that birthday".  There was no way I wanted to be in the Southern hemisphere when turning 30.

The decades are hard.  I remember being terribly forlorn the day I turned 10. When my Mother asked me why I was so sad on my birthday I replied "because yesterday was the last day I would ever be one figure old.  The next time anything this big happens I'll be turning 100!"

This time, instead of Mummy's cuddles for comfort on such a momentous occasion I turned to shoes in the streets of Paris.   These were my choice.

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The start of the silly

It's going to be 30 degrees in Sydney today.  A toasty warm Autumn day and as I'm nearing the end of my shoe odyssey my choices of shoe are getting smaller and smaller.  

So, today I've gone a little conservative and started with a vaguely wearable in warm weather bootie.  What I am concerned about are the 30 degree days where my only choice is a big thick long wooly boot!!  Amusing times ahead...

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A pointless rant.

Today's shoes have nothing to do with what I am about to rave on about.  They are pretty though don't you think?

I have come up against some funny attitudes recently and my reaction to them has reminded me that intolerance is my weakness.  I try to curb it but I do fail from time to time.

In my defence, I'm only intolerant of stupid people.  Hmmmm that probably means I'm intolerant in general.  But for heaven's sake, there really are a lot of stupid people out there!  Now that I say that I'm making myself laugh because it feels like I'm in the middle of an Edina Monsoon rant.

To me a stupid person is someone who lacks compassion, who cannot see beyond themselves and focuses on negative things to their own, and sometimes those around them's detriment.  To me the smartest person in the world is one who loves with honest grace.  This aspect is probably the part that makes me stupid too. My intolerance lacks the very grace I wish for.

Tomorrow is a new day.  Perhaps I will learn then.

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Rave girl loves the DJ

Every so often I notice that the years are ticking by.  This observation is especially acute when a really good trance or drum and bass DJ crosses my path.  I can't help myself but push my way to the front and go into a zone of dance so familiar and so dear to my soul that the truth of it's retro vibe is embarrassing.

I'm the girl who snuck out of my parents home to go to raves mid week then held my eyes open with determination at school the next day.   I'm also the girl who dated the DJ, has a power femme look and no matter how "proper" I become my stomach still does a flip flop when I hear the music I have loved so much for so long.

I moved city for University.  Sadly, the city I moved to, Christchurch, was more into beer drinking songs than worshipping at the altar of DJ all night long.  It was misery for my retro hippy soul.  But, to put a positive spin on an unfamiliar and uncomfortable situation I did find out exactly how much I loved the DJ.  Absence made my heart grow fonder.

The last outing for these shoes was at D-Edge, a brilliant club in Sao Paulo, Brazil.  Check it out:  www.d-edge.com.br/

We had only arrived in Brazil hours earlier and frankly I felt awful after the long journey from Australia.  But the second I heard that sound, the retro hippy chick in me forgot my tiredness, ditched my friends, ran to the front and danced the awful away.

It's funny because I've obviously found my Woodstock.  Trance is my flower power.  In years to come, I will be the wrinkled woman who embarrasses her kids by still running for the DJ every time she hears those tunes.

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Number 58

This is shoe number 58 - brilliant turquoise cloaked in satin.  20 to go.  I think.

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The silliest boys in Sydney

These rose gold beauties have put in some big hours and long distances for me over the years.  I bought them in a little shop in Christchurch that is now smashed to pieces on one of my jaunts to New Zealand years ago.

At first I wasn't convinced but they crept up on me and over time I grew to adore them.  We have been to many parties, dinners, clubs, boats and even my work place together.  We've sipped cocktails by candle light, thrown bread to the ducks and kicked some of the silliest boys in Sydney to the kerb.

On one particular night when we were out dancing at a Latin club a particularly silly and drunk Sydney boy decided he liked me and my rose gold shoe companions.  Fabulous.  Not being sure how to politely tell this very strong, clearly very determined silly drunk Sydney boy how to naff off I agreed to one dance.  The dance was more of a shove here and there that threw my rose gold and I a little off balance.

Brad, a very dear rose gold coloured friend of mine, equally strong and equally determined saw my and my ladies' plight.  Brad saved the day and the silly drunk Sydney boy soon found himself on a dirty smudgy blackened kerbside, the light of rose gold nowhere to be seen.  Rose gold ought never be sullied by the silliness of Sydney boys.

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Uggs are not sexy

I read an article earlier this week about the founder of Jimmy Choo shoes, Tamara Mellon.  The article credited her with making Ugg boots sexy by whacking a stiletto on the back.  I own a pair of Uggs (sans JC heel),  I love them with PJs, chocolate and red wine in winter but I could never see them as alluring or seductive simply because someone with a following bangs a heel on the back of them.

I don't care if you are Tamara Mellon; Uggs aren't sexy and can't be made so.  That's just not possible in my book.  They are at best cute and cosy, and at their worst, trashy.  The heeled Uggs released by Jimmy Choo look like a mistake.  A round peg in a square hole.

Perhaps it's because I'm not a Jimmy Choo kind of a gal.  When it comes to luxury shoes I'm more of a Sergio Rossi meets Hugo Boss meets away with the fairies type.  Ms Mellon clearly makes beautiful shoes but I am yet to find a pair that I connect with.  Naturally, I'm keeping an open mind.  Tomorrow is another shopping day so you never know.

These clunkers somehow remind me of the Jimmy Choo Ugg but they don't offend me the way the Ugg heels do.  They are an attempt at casual chic though I think they come off a little chunky.  Actually, it's the chunkiness that both repulses and draws me in.  Intellectually I don't get them but the simple fact is I just like them.  I'm looking forward to putting these contradictions on today.

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My pain is your gain

I have a killer headache.  Even looking at this screen is enough to make me wince.  Touch wood it's not the beginning of a migraine.

To make up for my inability to type here are two fun shoes that represent two fun people: Daniela and Ruth, you know who you are and what you did.

Ankle straps look weird, I know.  My apologies.  Hopefully I'll be back on form after a good night's rest (and loads of drugs).

Love
E x

Happy retirement

Ah, these old ducks bring back memories.......

I was obsessed with a heavy woollen muddy forest green dress.  It has bell sleeves, a plunging V-neck and was cut on the bias so swung about my legs like a breeze.  I loved it.  I spent hours dreaming about what I would wear with it.  I imagined myself sashaying down halls, my hair bouncing behind me and this dress swinging heavily.

The designer had produced an entire range in varying depths of this opulent colour and I coveted the jacket.  A huge suede and faux fur trimmed jacket with a single button.  It is delicious.  The whole look is very Eddie Sedgewick.  Old school goes glam.

I would sit and dream about me, this dress and jacket striding decisively.  Where? I have no clue.   However, the shoe I conjured in this vision could not be found anywhere.  I wanted an ankle boot with a structured stiletto heel and open finish across the arch.  These did not fit the bill but they worked with the outfit magnificently and I have loved them for a long time.

Ironically, when I bought them I thought it was a concession because I hadn't been able to find what I dreamed of.  Yet out of the dress, the jacket and the shoes, I have worn the shoes to death whereas the others I have not.  Happy retirement, my loves.

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Flower delirium

Right, so this pair falls into several embarrassing categories:

- They were purchased in an online shopping frenzy and travelled from the other side of the earth at my electronic request.
- I waited on the edge of my seat for them to arrive.  Willing time to pass faster so that they would arrive.
- I was judged (deservedly so) by the mail room guy and reception ladies.
- I lost interest moments after receiving them.
- They have lain dormant in my wardrobe for many moons.
- I have never worn them.

I think I should be do some kind of penance for my sins of lust and gluttony.  Perhaps there is some sort of community service I can do to make up for my wastefulness. All that money spent and attention diverted for me to cast them aside.

I am a naughty naughty girl.

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Slingback sadness

Sigh.  I struggle to wear sling backs.  My feet simply shrug them off as I walk.  It's terribly sad because slingbacks can open the connection between beautifully adorned foot and elegant leg.  What is not so elegant is a women struggling to keep the damned things on and stopping every few steps to pull the strap back up.

Silly shoemakers.  I'm all for loveliness, even with a price, but come on - make something I can freakin' walk a decent distance in!!  I couldn't even get from the cab to restaurant table in these.  They remain static in their beauty.  The moment motion is involved, forget it.

I have held on to these ladies for years and years and years with the hope that one day I'll actually be able to keep them on my feet.  Alas, it's not going to happen.  To eBay they must go.

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Little Miss Melbourne Sunday

Like flat shoes, these are another example of me trying on for size something that doesn't really fit.  I bought these when I was living in Melbourne a few years ago.  They were a conscious choice to try the city and its style on for size.  Didn't work.

I enjoy these shoes but they're simply not quite me.  I'm glad I spent some time in Melbourne and in these shoes - who knows, if I went back maybe it would be different.  Although looking at these shoes I know that it would not.  They are a nice little change that I'm happy to wear every so often but would not wear again.

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A pair of pairs

I doubled up to make up for yesterday.  It's a double double really because before you I present two pairs of the same two, one in pink, one in black.  I do the same with cardigans.  At one point in time I recall owning a yellow, red, two black, two white and one pink - ALL the same cardigan.  What am I, the rainbow flag of apparel?

When acquisition mode hits, sense and reason really are replaced by lust for pretty things.  Where did this lust come from?  Is this some kind of primal urge to create beauty around ourselves?  To attract a lover perhaps?  I know that's not why I love beautiful things, I just love them but.... Ohhhhhh, penny just dropped.  This must be the explanation for "Soccer Mom" haircuts, something I loathe with as much force as my loathing for sneakers with jeans.

I have never been able to get my head around how (some, and it is only some) beautiful vibrant women suddenly become frumps on marrying or having children.  I've met women who are younger than me but look at least 10 years older and had once been lovely.  It's like a light has gone out and I have never understood why.  Is it because they've "got the goods", as they see it?  Weird mindset.

I loathe the Soccer Mom haircut because it so often seems to be found on women who have lost themselves.  Maybe I'm projecting because if I cut my hair that way or lost my joy in dress ups to the extent that I stopped taking pride in my appearance, then something would be very wrong.  I would be lost.  Maybe that's not true for everyone.  There is definitely a risk that my view is judgmental and naive but I think there is at least a grain of truth in my line of thinking for the minority of the population who sport this doo.

I know loads of beautiful women who have continued to celebrate their femininity post marriage and babies by adorning themselves like happy women should.  To me, it's part of being female to celebrate it outwardly and happily.  Bring on the lust.

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Shoegasm and sins of acquisition

I broke the rules.  I bought these shoes and I haven't justified the other 77 yet!  Given my generally disinterested attitude to the rules of any game, I think I've done quite well not to break any until now.

Well, now that I'm confessing I do have some other disclosures to make.  Let's write a list, at least this way I can get it all off my chest and you can be confident that going forward my shoes and I are above board:

- the day I discovered I owned 77 pairs of shoes I had earlier given 30 or so other pairs to charity
- the 77 does not include gym shoes or beach shoes
- one day I didn't wear the shoes I said I would.  To be fair, it was because when I put them on I discovered they needed re-heeling
- I'm not wearing these shoes today, I just wanted to show them to you

That's it.  End of confession.  Defiant I continue.......

These shoes are utterly magnificent.  My pupils dilated and heart rate increased the second I saw them.  They are worthy of even the pickiest devotee's shoegasm.  Wow.  I wish you could see them in person because they are like nothing I have ever worn.  Exquisite.   It's a kind of beauty that aches.

My sin was worth it.

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The pointy end

I can't believe it, there are only another 20 or so shoes to go and the journey through the bottom of my closet is complete!

To date, I have largely steered clear of boots and heavy shoes during the inital phase of this shoe odyssey.  Being Sydney and summer-time I've favoured open toed and light shoes.

Hmmmm being Sydney and now autumn-time it's still hot, yet I have many many boots and heavy shoes to come!  These kids aren't so bad but some interesting fashion choices await.  I'm up for the challenge - winter boots on 30 degree days here I come!

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People of Walmart

Yesterday I was sent an email that showed shoppers at Walmart in the US.  It was funny but it was also appalling.  The unsuspecting shoppers are ridiculed as freaks.  Evidently, there is a website devoted to these pictures where they are ridiculed as such.  I'll let you google it yourself...

On seeing the photos I can't help but ask "why?".  I hardly know what to say I'm so flabbergasted with what I saw.  It's terribly terribly sad and something that those communities appear to perpetuate by mutually reinforcing hideously unhealthy ways of living.

These people are a long way down the "Wall-E" track of living.  It's a great movie, I highly recommend you watch it and you'll see what I mean.

I am heading to Texas in April where I imagine I will meet many of these types of people.  In fact, I've set myself a challenge of making it as far through a Texan Steak as possible, which I understand is an inhuman task though bizarrely is achieved by most of the population.  Gladly, I suspect I will fail.

You will not see these shoes on a Walmart shopper!

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Filing cabinet

A few years ago when I worked at a law firm in the sparkling city of Sydney I would walk to work from my home in Potts Point past the sailors on Woolloomooloo wharf and through the Domain, a large park in Sydney that backs on to the Botanical Gardens and is home to the State Art Gallery and Library.  These are beautiful old sandstone buildings with rich histories and warmth that makes me smile.

One of the nicest things about Sydney is being able to walk almost anywhere and be sweetly uplifted by what you see.  Sydney is a small city but the harbour is a visual treasure encased in bright sunshine.  Beautiful wildlife and greenery are everywhere, and the cityscape itself is lovely.  It feels like a corny kind of paradise when bright parrots and exotic come to visit.

A lesson I have learnt in my lifetime is that I am very affected by my visual environment.  If it's ugly and bleak I will fade.  If it's beautiful and bright I will thrive.  On those walks I felt as if I was floating in a bubble of contentment, gazing like a loon at the beauty before me.  I felt like thanking someone for letting me experience something so lovely.  It was healing.

One day I was staring out of my office window on the 57th floor across the city to the airport watching planes take off when I heard a knock at my door.  My then assistant Nicole had come to do some filing.  She was laden with folders and indicated there were more to come.  I went back to what I was doing, conscious to stop staring out the window at the mysterious hunks of flying metal and do some work.  I heard a little snicker and then a laugh and then an "ELIZABETH!"

Opps, Nicole had discovered 14 pairs of shoes impairing her ability to do my filing and stashed unceremoniously on the bottom two shelves of my filing cupboard.  These bronzed ladies were among those bashful 14 pairs.  Well, a fullsome selection of shoes is at least entertaining.

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Disco!

I'm not ready to give up Mardi Gras this Monday so I'm keeping it with me on my feet.  The photo is a little misleading as the gold trim isn't showing all that well but trust me, it's there.

At the time of writing I am still rather tired from Saturday night's fun.  More tomorrow I promise.

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The day after Mardi Gras...

... is a day for rest.  These pretty little slippers are actually a warm dusky pink, though they look quite brown in this photo.

The Mardi Gras Parade was great fun.  One of my dearest friends in the world invited me to a party at he and his boyfriend's apartment for the parade.  Their apartment has prime views over the last third of the march.  It was such a laugh and so much fun playing dress ups.

I love the spirit of "yipppeeee" and, now that I think about it, perhaps it's a sense of relief that Mardi Gras brings.  I mean relief in the sense that for one night people with a kind of expression that's different from main stream can breath out and just embrace it openly.  I'm not gay myself but I sense the relief in my gay friends and I am so glad for them.  I left the party around 2am happy and covered in glitter.

I am spending the day doing absolutely nothing with my burmese friends who spend most days doing the same.  Right-o, there is something to be learned from our feline friends on a day like this.  Slippers on.  Perhaps a Pride and Prejudice marathon is called for.

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Happy Mardi Gras xox

Right, so now I have to explain these shoes.  Ummm: Mardi Gras, sparkly things, homos, disco, Brazil, Oxford Street, whimsy, I'm bored, why not and friends.  Yup, that sums it up in short.

The longer version is that every year since I've been in Sydney I have missed the Mardi Gras parade.  There's been something else on or I've been a party pooper, whatever the case may be I've missed it.  Until 2010.  I had just arrived back from Brazil and was on a super duper high.  That place, gosh I hardly know what to say.  Anyway, I was in super relaxed mode and got a call from my dear friends Mauricio and Peter who were looking for extras in their float for the Mardi Gras parade.  Bring it.  Did it.  Loved it.

I had the perfect outfit, a samba swingey clingey shiney pinkey goldey thingee I picked up on Ipaneama beach from a toothless old lady from the Favelas (the hand stitching gets me right in the heart strings every time).  But no shoes!  Being Mardi Gras I realised that I had to find something over the top, trashey and matchable with my Brazilian Carnaval outfit.  These were the best I could do with the approximately 5 seconds notice I had.  I think they worked.

Needless to say, I haven't worn them since but I don't want to discard them as I am too nostalgic for the sense of grace I felt when I was a part of the parade last year.  The grace I felt in that parade was the celebration and joy of embracing being human, whatever that means.  It also reminds me of my wish and hope that those who taught us about grace would embrace it themselves.

The dishonour of wearing these horrific shoes was worth the honour of marching in the Mardi Gras parade.

Yes, each flower was hand stitched, the head gear went sky high and I'm not going anywhere near what the back looked like.

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moderation-a-whatsit

There is something cosy about these shoes.  An intangible quality that just makes me go "ahhhhh".  I'm obviously growing up because these are "sensible" shoes and quite foreign to my usual list of "likes" in this world.

I've experienced similar growth with respect to coffee vs tea.  I used to drink an inordinate amount of coffee.  The thought of drinking tea was obscene.  I used to call it "sewer water for the weak".  Ever colourful.

One day my friend Tree and I thought we'd see how much coffee we could drink in one sitting.  It was a sort of self experiment.  Within about an hour we managed to get through six or seven cups of coffee comprised of a Tablespoon of instant espresso (yuck, I know) and two Tablespoons of sugar (yuck yuck, I know I know).

My 6 foot 7 friend Tree was felled and I was violently ill.  It was an interesting experiment and many moons have passed since then.  I now enjoy coffee on occasion.  It must be espresso and it must be good.  I also got over myself and now enjoy tea every day, it's comforting and doesn't hurt my tummy.

I now know that it's okay not to take the "hard core" option every time when it comes to caffeinated beverages and shoes.  These shoes taught me it's okay to go for cuddly shoe comfort.

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A simple nude

I have a function to attend this evening and, strangely, I am not in a costume filled haze of ideas and outfits.  It's been a big week, an odd week for no particular reason and today I am simply not inspired to create the aesthetic I would ordinarily relish.  But, I am looking forward to the evening.

A nude is required.  Something comfortable with the right balance of effort free chic as tonight I shall be surrounded by people I do not know but, for the first time in my life, I actually want to suck up to.  I struggle to appear interested in someone unless I am actually interested in them!  I don't care how big their boat is or how full their wallets, I simply don't like it.  It all seems like a giant lie.

In any event, this evening I am finally learning my lesson about sucking up.  I now work in aviation, which I thoroughly enjoy, and tonight I will meet many people in interesting roles within the industry.   I like aviation and sincerely want to learn more so I really do want to talk to them.

Ah, maybe I have just learnt something about myself - I seem to need to care about something to engage with it.  I never cared about law firm life so the reality is I was never going to engage.  Huh, interesting.  This naval gazing stuff is like a mini psych session.

Suction cups at the ready.

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Gender bender

I like to mess with rules.  Our realities are our own.  Hmmm that's a concept I can enjoy.

A few years ago I was best (fe-)man at the wedding of two of my best friends, Danny and Amelia who live miles and miles away from me in the "Shaky Isles" of New Zealand.  They are each so unique, so earnest and so simply themselves.  Thinking of them makes my eyes water and my heart do a little twist.

They married in the iconic Christchurch Cathedral that sadly, following last week's earthquake, is now in broken ruins.  Their marriage in that place with me beside Danny in a "man's role" was one of the most feminine moments of my life as I witnessed two people I love, so in love with one another.  I stood  beside them both and beamed in their happiness.  Gender was irrelevant.  It was a moment of honesty that transcended tradition and rules.  Friendship and love was all that mattered.  The truth in the air was palpable.

Of course, I took the opportunity to embrace the contradiction of my role.  I love the perfection in opposites of Danny's choice of best man.  Let's be honest - I reveled in it much like a pig in mud.  I wore these shoes with my "fe-suit" and towered over the entire wedding party. I guess men are generally taller than women so if I was going to play a "man's role" I took the mandate seriously.  Any opportunity to push a boundry.....

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Pink thinking purple people

Everyone knows that little girls love pink and purple.  I may not be all that little any more but I am no exception to this rule.  Recently, though, I came to realise that I'm not entirely sure what the difference is between them.  Am I a colour blind colour lover?  No no no, I'm not colour blind but I am concerned about what they teach kids in school these days because I am not convinced that I know what colour these shoes are.  Where is the line between pink and purple?

I'll be brave and make a call: it's purple with a little pink anxiety.  I have a dress in exactly this colour. The anxiety came out the first time I wore the dress and decided to ask one of my colleagues whether she thought my dress was pink or purple.  Rebecca's very clear answer was "pink" and "are you mental?".  Fair question.  But let's look at the facts.  The pillow below is definitely pink, a light pink with softness and warmth that is quite different to my shoe.  My shoe is dark pink gone bluey - in other words, purple!  Surely that's right?  It's cooler and sharper than the light pink pillow contrast.

These are the things that keep me entertained on the inside.

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Coco goes country

These boots are a great idea in principle but I have found them difficult to style in practice.  I have a suspicion that they are trying to serve too many masters.  All I can think of when I see them is CC styling meets country.  The cream suede is delicious, the black patent leather is too, with its sharp edges but soft scalloped finished.  Can you see what I'm saying - a little all over the place.

When I picked them up I was out shopping with a dear friend on Melbourne's Brunswick Street.  I was in love immediately.  I spoke to a friend this weekend actually about how women are attracted to shoes.  She made a comment that she knows when a shoe is for her when it speaks to her.  I agree, there is a recognition inside each of us that is inexplicable, very real and sometimes quite impractical.

I wouldn't say these lovelies are totally impractical but I do feel slightly schizophrenic when I wear them, which is a shame because every time I look at them I see glamour and think chic!  This photo really doesn't do them justice.  In person they are quite glorious.  Perhaps that is the problem, my clothes simply fail to live up to these boots' glory.  

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Sunshine Sunday and the perfectly matched hat

I've always wanted to be a hat person, but never pulled it off particularly well.  Apart from being mildly disappointing, it never mattered until I met Melbourne mid horse racing season.  Wow, I don't know what else to say except "Wow, y'all need to chill".

Good on them, I suppose, it's good to have a passion but the importance of Melbourne's passions often acquires an importance that is up there with breathing.  Heaven forbid anyone who doesn't agree without question and share their passion.   The funny thing is that a couple of the coolest people in the world I know live there amongst all this angst.  I've concluded that it's because they are in the flow so can relax and just go with it.  I love the Melbourne I know on holiday and can imagine that if I were ever "in the flow" then living there full time would be just like the fabulous experience of visiting.

In any event, I bought this hat for the Melbourne Cup a few years ago.  I even like it and it matches perfectly with my shoes for today, given to me by the dazzlingly sunny and lovely, Daniela.  So, thank you Melbourne for shoving me down and harassing me into buying a hat and thank you, Daniela for picking a pair of shoes that would match so well.

Sunshine Sunday here I come........

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A clog blog

How is it that a type of shoe traditionally worn by workers as protective clothing in factories, mines and farms has entered and re-entered mainstream and high end fashion so many times?  My first encounter with a clog was when I attended Wellington Girls' High School in New Zealand.

Our uniform was something that only sarcasm can do justice to:  teal all over with black and gold interspersed.  An "interesting" choice.  In fact, who the heck made that choice?  Who is responsible for the travesty that is school uniforms?  Why is it necessary to create hideousness where none is required.  It seems to me that the job description for school uniform designer must include:  "the applicant must possess the special ability to make a daisy look like a toad, and have special qualifications in poor taste."

In any event, I would have been about 14 at the time and clogs came on my radar.  We were allowed to wear black shoes as I recall and I had a constant battle with my mother to find shoes that were "sensible" and "for school", yet made me feel like a had a personality larger than an ant.  Clogs were it.  I acquired my first pair and was temporarily much happier.

These are somewhat different to the clogs I wore at school but somehow they pull super chic out of what used to be a blue collar staples.  I suggest that whomever was responsible for making clogs cool should next turn their hand to school uniforms.


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A little happy

It has been three days since an enormous earthquake tragically struck Christchurch, New Zealand.  A terribly sombre and shocking time for people like myself who are themselves far away but with dear friends and family in the region.  I cannot even begin to imagine what these past few days have been like for those who lived through the experience and are grappling with the consequences now.

Christchurch, you kindly housed me for seven years, while I studied, worked and met some of the best people I have ever known.  Some of them are still there and, while you and I weren't a match made in heaven, I love going back to visit them from time to time.  I am so dreadfully sorry that you are suffering and hope today's post can bring you a little something to lighten the mood.

One of our issues, Christchurch, is we often misunderstood each other when it came to fashion.  I felt like a drag queen in a country choir most of the time.  In light of that, I have a suspicion that these shoes might give you a laugh.  Can you imagine these tottering around the Square, clambering up the Port Hills or wafting up and down the Strip?  Go on, you know I'd do it.  I'm really quite happy to be your clown today if it can make some of you smile, even for a moment. To me, these shiny red frayed ladies are fun and exaggerated in the best possible way, but I'm happy to be your joke any day of the week if it brings you a little "happy".

My love and wishes for everything good are with you all.

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A pause for Christchurch

This isn't my shoe.  It's just a shoe with a New Zealand flag on it that google found for me.  It's a little tribute to all of the people of Canterbury who endured a horrific earthquake yesterday and are now facing the clean up, aftershocks, and most frightening of all, the burial of their friends and family.

I am so sorry to you all.  A truly tragic day.  It is agonising watching your pain, helpless from afar.   Be assured that, though I'm far away, I'm thinking of you with the utmost compassion and best hopes for you all.

I have no stomach to blog about shoes in light of what you have been through.  Much love to you all.

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Karmic tomato

A few years ago, I spent Christmas in Taipei with Sanchia and her daughter, Cueba.  That's C.u.EEEE.b.a to those who knew her when she was learning to spell.  We had spent the day out of Taipei in an unpronounceable place by the sea.  It was beautiful and quirky, much like the rest of the Taipei I saw during my stay.

I hadn't been buying much as, being a Euro giant, it was too depressing selecting Asian sized garments.  Shoes on the other hand were fine.  Mostly.  It was nearly the end of the day and Sanchia spied them first.  Unfortunately, they didn't have her size and I recall her making comments about small Asian sizing as we had day after day about the clothes.  My mind retaliated like it was a challenge.  I was going to fit into those kooky shiny shoes no matter what.

Keeping my face as calm as possible, I slipped my foot into my usual size and announced that it was too big and that I wanted the half size down.  My inside voice at this point was saying "are you kidding me?"  I squished myself into the smaller size and declared them a perfect fit.  They weren't, but they are do-able.  Honestly, I'm not sure I'll ever mature.

Afterwards, we celebrated by buying strawberry sticks: pink sugar coated strawberry kebabs to be more precise.  I'll never forget getting to the end of my stick.  I can see the whole thing in slow motion:  I was raising the stick of deliciousness to my mouth as Cueba looked quizzically at me and said "that doesn't look like a strawberry", but I was committed, the stick was going in, my teeth clenching down, my face turning from bliss into horror, Cueba's face lighting up from confusion to uncontrolled laughter as we both realised the truth at the same time.  A treacherous sugar coated tomato was on the end of my stick and I had just squished it into my mouth!

YUCK!  It was awful.  I was so unprepared for that.  I had been expecting strawberry deliciousness within the pink sugar casing to round off the whole experience but that was simply awful.  I can only put it down to the universe knocking me off my high shoe-horse of earlier in the day.  I have never heard a kid laugh as much as Cueba did at me.  Fair call, it was pretty funny.

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Cocktails and snakes

I bought these shoes years ago on a visit to London.  My dear friend Ruth had moved there fairly recently and was dating a French guy who, at the time, I oscillated between nick naming the "frog" or the "toad".  Nothing was clear at the time but now it's safe to say the right label was the "frog" because he turned out to be her great love.  I'm not saying "the other word" because it's just too much at this time in the morning (or ever). 

Ahem, back on track.  Ruth is a shoe diva.  I love her style, her intolerance of boring and simple demand that anything that goes on her feet is perfect.  Her approach is simple and effective.  Before she moved to London some of our favourite things to do together were drinking cocktails and decompressing after long days and shopping (in general but especially for shoes).

Don't mis-judge me, I have my own style, but I am inspired by the people around me.  These shoes remind me of her and, to be honest, I'm not clear that I would have bought them if I hadn't been with her.  Needless to say I am absolutely delighted that I did.  They are fun without being silly, sexy without venturing into hookerville and practical without being dowdy.  They took me into a realm of shoe-dom I wouldn't have known without her.  Who could ask for more?

So, thank you Ruth and happy birthday for today.  I can't wait to shop with you very soon in your new home, NYC.  Your global homes are very good for my wardrobe.

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Computer-less and Sanchia-full

My sincere apologies.  Over the last few days I have been without my computer.  Damned thing ran out of power because the charger died.  Computer says no = no posts for you over the past couple of days.

Lucky for me, Sanchia Peace Kumalija has been visiting and kept me entertained when technology failed me.  Sanchia is more than a substitute for a power cord.  She is a vision of fun, grace and smarts.  Sanchia reminds me of who I want to be in this world.

We've had a great few days exploring this lovely city of Sydney, sharing some of our favourite things and just being together, being great friends.

I'll be back on shoe track tomorrow.  I promise.

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Lothario and Sharon Stone

A few years ago I met a guy online by accident.  He popped up in the then equivalent to Skype and started talking to me as if we were the best of friends.  Turns out it was a mix up but in the course of working that out we both became intrigued.

It was fun.  He was quite fascinating and over time his charms drew me in.  He was a retired footballer from the UK.  Turns out the cliches are true: he was a quintessential Lothario with quite a reputation with the ladies.  I have no doubt you can work out how that turned out.

Interestingly, the year we met he had a small part in a movie with Sharon Stone, the ultimate man eating "dom".  In the movie he took a different role in his relationship with her: she drew him in, took what she wanted and tossed him aside.  Ouch!

These shoes remind me of a pair she wore in that movie.  Mine aren't black or shiny like those worn by Ms Stone's character but they are saucy with their multiple buckles and criss crossing leather.  I won't be copy-catting her character's conduct but I will have fun in them today!

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Only human

I'm whipping out another boring pair of shoes today.  I have no excuses.  They are a black combination of patent and matte leather and nothing about them says "wow".  I bought them on a strange whim when I thought that being "sensible" was justification for my choice.  It's not and I'm clearly not sensible. 

Sensible and staid.  Why bother?  I can't imagine.  I really can't see the point of it all.  Why choose something that at best makes you do this:

When you have the option of choosing something that makes you do this:

It's a mystery and frankly quite exhausting.  Choice is a funny thing.  I find that surprisingly often people don't realise that maintaining a not so nice status quo is a choice they elect every time they choose not to avail themselves of something better.  The choices made in maintaining the status quo or for going for something different each have consequences for which they are responsible.  No excuses.

I'm responsible for this strange choice.  It's not my status quo but it was a choice.  Odd.
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What Sanchia thinks of...............

Tonight I showed Sanchia my closet.  My dear sweet admirable annoying friend has arrived.  She feels like home.  I can't believe she's here except she keeps on pinching me so okay, I believe it.

She went through my closet tonight and expressed two things: a desire to clean up and that I should wear these loves today.  Sanchia is right, I haven't been all that scientific in my approach to filing away the shoes that I have worn through this shoe odyssey.  When she peered into my wardrobes this evening she saw at the front a mass of shoes already worn.


The shoe love yet to be revealed is truly hidden.  Hidden beneath a mass of repetition, a mass of gluttony and fun.  It's fun but it's also a little awful.  These shoes are another example of my shame.  When I bought them I was in "acquisition mode".  I didn't think about what would happen after I had released them from their shelf prison.  I only thought of amassing more.  On the one hand that is bad but on the other I now realise that they suit me better than they did when I was in that insane state.  

I am so glad I am going through this blog journey.  Today I am wearing a pair of shoes that, but for the blog, would have been relegated to nothingness.  In contrast, they are making Sanchia think of, and I quote:  "the tropics, Jamaican men getting changed, muscular, smooth chested doctors with sweat dripping off them."

Who would have known a pair of shoes could conjure such thoughts?  It must be the shell.

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Oh dear

I am sorry to report a death in the family.  Yesterday I rescued from disuse, dust and lack of daylight a pair of beautiful old ducks from my ancient past.  Somewhere between putting them on and walking to my car I remembered why they were disused, dusty and lacking in daylight.  The slingback curse - beautiful and glamorous, yes, wearable, no.

Ah, I just don't have the right shaped feet for slingbacks.  I only need take four or five steps and the damned strap falls down.  I loved but lost patience for yesterday's honey bee a long time ago.  To the eBay graveyard they go.

So today I had to find some mourning shoes with an absurdly delighted "welcome to Sydney" twist as one of my favourite people in the world is coming to visit today.  In fact, she's in the air right now and about to land on these fair shores.  So, what says R.I.P. and "hello my darling Sanchia" better than a vamped up frilly stiletto?  I can't think of anything.

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Justifying my love

I bought these shoes nearly one decade ago.  All of a sudden I feel justified in amassing such a large number of shoes.  It was my first job in law and somehow I had found myself in Wellington, New Zealand rushing about after a bunch of barristers.  To blow off steam I went shopping.

Wellington is a lovely city and my home town.  It doesn't feel like home anymore - I left nearly 15 years ago - but, it still makes me smile and is home to some of my favourite people.  Wellington is relaxed and quirky, has style without arrogance and on a clear day is really quite special.

After a long day of killing trees and trying to stay awake through another festival of yawning (also known as "a hearing") I was actively seeking a distraction.  Shoes were an easy win and in my dour state I was immediately drawn to the light, leather and mass of colour that can only be found in a shoe shop.  As my eyes fell on this pair I went from black to sunshine in seconds.  They are beautiful.

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Say "no" to SWJ

These canvas kids are perfect for those occasions when you're recovering from the night before, still want to do something and look respectable doing it but the thought of any effort being required get's the big "no thanks".

Also, this genre of shoe is the appropriate alternative to sneakers.  Sneakers are for the gym, and only the gym.  They are not appropriate for wearing with jeans or, perhaps even worse, suits on the way to work.

I have a huge bug bear with the inappropriate usage of sneakers.  I see beautiful women, well dressed and lovely until I look down and see what I can only liken to a giant wart on each of their feet.  They ruin the aesthetic completely with this odd practice of pairing gym shoes with ordinary outer wear.

It's careless and lazy.  Especially when equally comfortable but less horrendous alternatives are readily available.  Sneakers with jeans are not okay.  Ever.  It's just not right!!!

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