I read recently that France has lost its chic. Its je ne sais quoi.
Their President is out of control.
While the French have always looked gracefully, and stylishly, the other way where "the other woman" is involved, particularly Presidential women, de Gaulle forbid he should comport l'affair on a moped, in the passenger seat, wearing a suit with cheap shoes and a giant Daft Punk helmet.
A President cheating on his wife and his mistress with yet a third woman is the height of panache. But, in a bad outfit? Mon Dieu.
The French are up in arms.
I so get it.
There is never an excuse for bad shoes. Except for hip surgery. My once impeccably shod tootsies are mourning their old, fashionable life, when their daily wear looked like this:
The perfect gladiator look. Minus the toga. Wouldn't be caught dead in a toga.
I remembered why these were so awesome in the 80's. Because they're awesome. My leg is coming from who knows where.
Marie Antoinette was so right. Eating cake in these shoes is so much better. That's what she meant, right?
I agree. These are fantastic.
I have hip problems because I apparently only have one leg. But it's wearing an adorable shoe.
There it is! I do have two legs. These are my Goldfinger shoes. I think James Bond would love them.
I'm a sucker for an ankle strap.
Brought these back from Italy. Can you blame me?
A shoe that looks like a velvet corset. Sigh.
Another pair from Italy. Had to.
I can't resist a pink shoe. Or a rhinestone buckle. Or shoes, period.
I hate getting caught on the Yellow Brick Road unprepared.
Gained an ankle strap. Lost a leg.
These are for when I mean business. 5 inches of business.
This is what I'm reduced to after crutches. These might as well be flat. I'm pouting just looking at them.
These are me, now, on crutches. The heel is so non-existent that it wasn't worth showing. Except for its pink. To make myself feel better I bought these in several colors. But still. So, not the same.
If you hear I've bought a moped. Shoot me.
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