Spectre/Spectator

These bow-tie-bedecked two-tone wingtips by Comme des Garcons have me slouching all over the show, exhaling theatrical sighs and swoons (not kidding, that’s how I roll when it comes to tuxedo-inspired attire, in particular where accessories are concerned).

Someone recently told me I shouldn’t be so concerned with fashion. I had a private Miranda-in-Devil-Wears-Prada moment, as I took in the accusee’s fashion-conscious chambray and straight-cuts. I get so tired of hearing it, honestly. It is possible to be completely fashion befok and still not be a vapid, shallow creature that blinks, glassy-eyed at the mention of more authentic concerns like the environment, world peace and the economy. I’ll Murakami and Greenpop your ass back to self-righteousville, I will.

AND back to my swoon. Those sleek-stepping Comme des Garcons beauties remind me of this video:

Old Faithful

In my first week at college they made us do all manner of awkward ‘icebreakers’ and get-to-know-each-other exercises. You know the kind: say your name and three things no one else knows about you, or even more cringeworthy, state your name and accompany it with an action that best illustrates your mood. So 90s.

One such exercise involved us each filling a shoebox with personal articles which would then be handed over to someone else in the group to deduce things about our personalities. This particular exercise actually had me interested – sure, you’re going to put in a couple of wanky things that make you look suitably cultured and interesting, but it really is telling to note the things that people want you to know about them.

The shoebox that I received contained a single, beaten up old trainer – scuffed, with worn down soles and fuzzy laces. What did it say about its owner, Johannes? That he was unpretentious, outdoorsy and not too concerned with fashion. ‘You got everything right,’ said Johannes, ‘but you missed one thing.‘ What was it? The fact that he is extremely loyal. He had been wearing the same pair of shoes for years and had no plans of swapping them for a new pair any time soon. I’ve never forgotten that.

My own old faithfuls, my suede Country Road ankle boots, have reached a similar stage of character building. I have officially worn through the sole of the right one, right down to the ground. The veneer on the heels has been superglued back into place, the buckle straps, I lovingly refurl into place on a regular basis. They’ve been to huge rock concerts, interviews, dinners, on dates and to festivals. I’ve worn them so smooth in the sole that I routinely avoid near-spills in public places. During winter I lusted after a pair of Chelsea boots which were to become their replacement, so I thought. Not the case. Now, just before their official first re-soling, they remain my first choice.

I feel proud to be so invested in my old faithfuls. I still routinely wear a pair of low-heeled leather Crayon wedges that I bought when I was 17, despite friends and family telling me to chuck them on a regular basis. I see a good, solid shoe as something that is hard to come by. When you find them, with a little love, care (and possibly, a sense of humour), they will last you a lifetime.

Allo Love

I’ve been lusting after these ever since I saw them parading down the catwalk during Lisp‘s show at CTFW. They were sold out at Aldo, and, because they were over £50 on ASOS, would’ve been double the price with import tax.

Amen for travelling friends. They will be on my ruby-toed pods come October.

My first espadrille wedge. Who woulda thunk?

Peach Fuzz

Shoes have never really been my thing.

I used to say that they were peripheral to my outfit – that I would prefer if they simply blended in and did their subtle best to not call attention to themselves. This would mean that they would draw attention away from my prance of extraordinary accessories – hats, brooches, scarves, ascots, you name it. When my mom fawned over shoe shop displays I’d give them a cursory glance and head straight for the nearest accessories counter.

My, how things have changed. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that my job now entails a fair amount of desk work, making heel-wearing quite a wondrous and unpunishing reality. Best thing is that I get to admire then on my feet all day, in between cappuccinos, blog reading and emails. And then the mini strut to and from car, or to and from cappuccino haunt: just long enough to turn a few heads, just short enough to remain pleasant. I now spend a lot of time admiring shoes – online, in store windows, on the feet of others. I have a particular penchant for boots with Cuban heels, but anything with a slightly rock edge will also do.

This peachy parade of chunky-heeled beauties is tempting the hell outta me over at the ASOS clearance sale. They are all less than £40 a pair! With rumours of exorbitant customs taxes swirling sly-eyed around the office, I am on the hunt for someone en route to London with space in their luggage for just two little pairs… the tan T-bars and the piglet-pink pair, too.

Pop Art Heart

I love these shoes.

Transparent, neon-tipped, turquoise laced, Crayola-cool Oxford brogues. Too cool! They’re the result of a Spring 2011 collaboration between UK shoe brand Alex & Rose and Ground Zero. They look like they’d make walking fun, and the colours are like a gloriously discordant late 80’s symphony. You could almost picture this bold palette executed on one of those free kiddies’ Spur Secret Tribe wallets we all used to love so much.

I love the fringed pair just as much, and they’re so noteworthy that they even inspired Katie from Paperfashion to immortalise them in glitter, watercolour and ink.

Wanted

 

A significant portion of my next paycheck has been pre-reserved for a pair of dangerously pointly, low-heeled black Chelsea boots.

They’ve been beckoning to me for some time now, and I need them so much that I can’t even divulge their exact location. Sorry. But such is the case when it comes to Winter boots. I’m already disenchanted with my Woolworths ones after seeing them on all and sundry. Bratty, I know, but I can’t help it.

These Crockett & Jones classics are pretty much flawless. Crafted to last a lifetime, and truly stylish in their downright simplicity. I first encountered the oldschool glory that is Crockett and Jones when I discovered these lovingly resoled monk shoes a few months back.

Their über functional, no-nonsense website is a testament to their craft – Crockett & Jones is a 5th generation family-run business that prides itself on quality, handmade leather shoes. Each pair takes up to 8 weeks to make and is crafted to stand the test of time. This little bit of research has me feeling really proud of my vintage C & J find, and also wishing I could secure a pair of their classic men’s Chelsea’s to call my own.

Buffed up

Your eyes doth not deceive you.

These chunky, Amazonian creatures are indeed the descendants of those iconic 1990’s giants, the Buffalo platform. The result of a collaboration between Monspoon Saloon and Buffalo, they’re the latest in the towering tumble of platforms to clunk on by.

Thoughts? I spied them on Style Bubble, and I’m almost ashamed to admit they arouse an inkling of Spice World nostalgia in me (sans compulsory Union Jack motif).

Check out the rest of the precarious parade here.

Hel’s Hoogte

If you don’t speak Afrikaans, then the translation for the title of this post is basically: As high as hell, or, hellishly high.

That’s the best way I can think of to describe these positively Amazonian beauties by Chloe Sevigny for Opening Ceremony. The collection builds on the success of Chloe’s last collaboration with OC, and the footwear is equally as iconic and fetishy. Oh so Chloe.

I love that attention is given to creating a really strong silhouette, rather than to embellishment or frippery – stitching, bows, elaborate zips or buckles. I saw lots of similar teeter-worthy specimens whilst in London, but I must admit, I don’t think I’d handle this height (nor the fact that I’d be towering over 6ft men in clubs and crowds).

Well, maybe if I was watching Interpol live. And wouldn’t they just be perfect for an Interpol concert? A similarly dark, sleek and coolly gothic affair.

Tiptoeing the Line

There are two kinds of people in the world: those that take their shoes off upon entering a house, and those that don’t.

In my opinion, the best ones are the ones that fall into Category A. To me it feels entirely unnatural to, say, cook whilst wearing shoes. Whether they be Birkenstocks, baby dolls or boots, taking off your shoes is a sign that you’re comfortable. It’s like going into a friend’s kitchen and making tea for everyone assembled, or offering to make the salad while the hostess flutters around doing finishing touches. Bare feet to me say warmth, sincerity and cosiness. When I go out dancing or for a drink, my shoes are the last part of my outfit. I almost feel that I am jumping the gun by putting them on before it is time to go. And all of my favourite people, whether they realise it or not, are naturally inclined towards the barefoot persuasion. It’s like an unuttered sub-culture of people – those to whom cooking in clogs or eating in espadrilles is simply not natural.

I had a boyfriend – he of huge, magnificent feet, feet of distinction – who refused to take off his shoes in my house. He always said his feet were cold, and I couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t just his size 11’s that were chilly – did he not feel warm enough to relax in my home? I would wake up on a Saturday morning and he’d be in the kitchen, fully clothed, shoes and socks in pride of place, whipping up an omelette. The shoes ruined the otherwise near-pastoral picture for me. And it wasn’t just because they were unsightly, unabashedly functional shoes that I already detested. I should have seen it as a sign immediately: he was a member of Category B – those that keep their kicks on indoors!

The experience that cemented this sociological observation for me was when I met another man, who was visibly taken with the fact that I took my shoes off while we had coffee at my apartment. The contrast between the heels I had worn to dinner earlier that night and my now-bare toes incited a tender, disbelieving grin that I so recognised. I walked him to his car, parked on the dark street corner, barefoot, not knowing if I’d ever see him again. And it was perfect, a perfect goodbye. Heightened by bare feet and the realisation that I had just met another Category A candidate. And that this fact – this quaint commonality – could be the foundation for myriad other things in common.

Call it what you will. You may well now start to frown at your boyfriend’s be-sneakered feet beneath the dining room table, or worry that if you are indeed a Category B candidate, does this mean you are cool and ill at ease? I can’t speak for the shoe-wearers. But do take note the next time someone asks if they may remove their Cons or Hasbeens in your home. If they haven’t just had a pedicure, you may be in the presence of some true Category A greatness.

SuperKronic

Susie Bubble remains my favourite fashion blogger, for the simple fact that she actually writes.

True fashion journalism, in my opinion, is an endangered art. Sure, many more fashion lovers are taking to the web with opinions, pictures and observations, but there are few that hold true to copy-driven posts. Although I am still a real magazine devotee, and find nothing more relaxing and indulgent than spending a few hours poring over a Vogue whilst lying on my bed, feet up, it is merely the truth that more and more writers are turning to blogs as their medium.

I really believe in maintaining a journalistic standard, though, and to me, Susie achieves this daily. Couple this with her innate impishness and hedonistic style, and you get an uber-productive, creative and inspiring writer who writes like old, but lives and thinks like new. I love it. I love that she travels to far-flung places and researches designers, methods of production, fabrics and stitching. And that her approach to clothing and fashion is at once reverent and irreverent.

Her recent trip to Iceland is a great example of her hands-on immersion in the worlds and minds of designers. Whilst in Reykjavik, she spent some time at a colourful little store called Kron, run by two equally bright personalities, Hugrun and Magni.

Featuring an epic selection of playful, outlandish shoes from Sonia Rykiel, to Tsumori Chisato, to Marc by Marc Jacobs, the store is a candy-hued playground of things to look at. Their own label, Kron by KronKron, is the highlight. Shoes like you’ve never seen before – a delightful hybrid of Dr Seuss shapes meets Marie Antoinette ruffles and harmoniously incongruous colour. And with hosiery to match – legs seamed in candy-coloured strata and cross stitch cool.

With an overwhelming selection of colours and styles, it would be hard to choose a pair of Krons to call my own, but this is what Susie went with.

She also gave a sneak peek at their range of Victorian-inspired velvet dresses. And you know how I feel about velvet.

Inspiring stuff, huh? Check out the full story here.

Top Deck

I’m so taken with these Spring 2011 Prada platform oxfords.

They combine a classic shape with some serious rockabilly attitude, and I love the mixing of mediums – leather with foam and rubber. The unisex aspect is also really cool. And boys in platforms? I like it. They remind me of a pair of dress shoes I saw recently – leather wingtips with a glossy cerulean slick of a sole that looked like it was made of vinyl.

It’s kind of like that amusing old adage ‘business in the front, party in the back’, except it’s top and bottom, and there are no mullets involved (Amen).

Porn

Shoe porn, that is.

I trawled through Susie Bubble‘s archives, because the girl has such unusual taste, and let’s just say my eyes are big. I’m in the mood for a little outlandishness today. [The nautical beauties pictured above are by LF Markey]

Tyake Tyoke

Nicole Brundage

Carin Wester for Urban Outfitters (they’re flexible!)