Christian Louboutin Explains It All

I've been getting caught up on my New Yorkers. Here are some of my favorite snippets from a piece called, "Sole Mate" by Lauren Collins that appeared in the March 28th issue.

"I hate the whole concept of the clog!" Louboutin said. "It's fake, it's ugly, and it's not even comfortable!" He continued, "And I hate the whole concept of  comfort! It's like when people say, 'Well, we're not really in love, but we're in a comfortable relationship.' You're abandoning a lot of ideas when you are too into comfort. 'Comfy'--that's one of the worst words!"


Louboutin knows a couple who met, and married, after the man approached the woman about her red soles. With their erotic connotations, Louboutin's shoes have served as props in many romances, not all of them innocent.


"Men are like bulls," Louboutin said. "They cannot resist the red sole."


So, yeah, I have 3 pairs of clogs. They're comfy. I like comfy. But I prefer to be barefoot if it's warm enough.

Here is my absolutely most favorite pair of shoes.

Not exactly man bait, I suppose. Deliciously comfy though.

How about you, would you rather be comfortable or uncomfortable?

This just seems wrong

From the New York Times: Guys, Skip the Break-In on These Louboutins

I've written about Louboutins before HERE and HERE. They hold a special repugnant significance in my life.

Or it could be that I'm too clumsy to walk in high heels and maybe I'm secretly jealous. But even if I thought I could walk in them, I'd have to stumble onto a swank garage sale and get them cheap. Hundreds or even thousands of dollars for shoes?

It seems like the world should be walking in the shoes of the people who are out of work, the shoes of people who can't afford health insurance, the shoes of people without shoes.

And did you know that the New York Times only covered the Occupy Wall Street protests in the "N.Y./Region" news? It didn't merit being categorized "U.S." or "Top News." The Los Angeles Times had their article on page 26. That seems wrong, too.

Christian Louboutin Shoes: 700.00 to 5500.00/My Family: Priceless

Watch and read.
Or read and then watch.
Whatever.
The Science Behind the Perfect Home-Wrecker  

And here's the beginning of an essay that's looking for a home.

Red Soles

            “Christian Louboutin shoes have red soles,” my husband told me in the middle of a conversation I should have paid more attention to. I never suspected that a few months later he’d fall for someone who has a closet full of these $800 fashion statements.

            It was a sweltering Sunday afternoon in July when my husband pulled out a dining room chair and informed me that he wanted to marry his new love. Our marriage of three decades undoubtedly had a few worn spots in it, but with our youngest child about to leave for college, I was thinking of a trip for just the two of us. Slowing down. Spending time not wearing shoes. 

 The red-soled shoes had been hovering between us for months.

photo credit: iheartluxe.com

Shoes and Sex

I've been dreaming of footwear.
I don't usually dream. Or I don't remember my dreams.
I complained about my pitiful dream life to my brother's girlfriend last week. "I'll send you a dream," she said.  The next morning I awoke still feeling the soft brown suede of a pair of boots I'd worn in the dream. It was almost all I remembered. There had been a party. Supposedly with friends, but in real life, I didn't know these dream people. They vaporized when I opened my eyes. The boots though. Over -the-thigh supple tawny suede with variegated brown and white fur at the top. What my daughters and I might have once called "hooker boots."
This morning it was shoes. Black. Brown. Pumps. Sandals. Round-toed flats with ankle straps.  I'd gone to my new book club meeting with two bags of them. I was in a hurry and couldn't decide what to wear. Late--because I had my mother in tow. I abandoned her  unceremoniously at the door of the bathroom and went into an alcove where one of my fellow readers--a demure Asian woman--sat in a chair with a book. The room was nearly dark, and there was a bed jutting from one of the corners. After a brief hello from a tallish thin man who looked a bit like Errol Flynn, he and I began pulling off our clothes (was he wearing a cravat?) and dove under the covers. Enthusiastic sex ensued. Never mind my mother wandering alone somewhere in a house she was unfamiliar with. Never mind the reading woman in the chair. We could hear the hum of voices getting louder. Drinks being poured. "I thought I saw Denise come in," someone said from the next room.
When Mr. Flynn and I were finally sated, I was a bit embarrassed and began to throw on my clothes. The shoes--oh my god, the shoes. Which ones should I wear? Wait--there were no matched pairs.

I woke up feeling anxious and guilty. I'd just had sex with someone that wasn't The Man Who Loves Me. Wait! Hadn't he said he'd go to book club with me? Was he in the next room while....then I came to my senses. It was just a dream. And those shoes--I didn't own any of them in real life.  Which leads me to ponder shoes. The Little Missus is into shoes in a big way. A closet full of Christian Louboutins, I've been told.  Is that why I'm dreaming about shoes?