Geddit? *sniggers à la Mutley*
La was travelling to work this morning on la busalista, listening to ‘Regret’ by New Order, and twitching to do some air guitar to accompany that little riff that leads up to the bit that goes, “I would like a place I could call my own, have a conversation on the telephone..” (Man, I’d like that too, Messrs New Orders!)
As we all know, there’s nothing more unseemly than the sight of a middle-aged white woman, dressed for a day at the Wordporium, air-guitaring on public transport.
So I sat on La fingers and contented myself with a bit of head waggling accompanied by some white woman overbite action.
Anyhows, onto serious stuff — a fash scan of the interwebs.
Couldn’t you just eat these gorgeous Christian Louboutin confections? No ways they’re making their way across the threshhold of Palazzo Trivialista, though, for several reasons.
1. It’s the Era of Frugality.
2. Signor Seriousimo has cottoned onto the fact that red soles = costa lotsa wonga *curses*.
3. Corns and bunions. (Can never remember which are which, just know I have both and they are unsightly and painful in equal measure.)
La would love to be able to swangle los tootsies into a pair of very delicate ladyshoes like these, but sadly that’s not to be. Just don’t have the clodhoppers for it.
As you all know, digi prints rule and you should let them be all over you like a bunch of cheap suits. Not sure about the asymm hem, but loving this eco-digi from Clover Canyon. Wearing this would be like pinning your eco creds to your chest.
La love of Mary Katrantzou is well banged-on about here at the virtual palazzo. Here’s yet more evidence of her peerless genius. Again, there are several reasons a parcel of this magnificence won’t be batting against my front door.
1. Ugly knees — the result of two arthroscopies, themselves the result of slipping on the grog-splattered dancefloor of BrisVegas’s Cafe Neon in 1990 while dancing with Brunswick Browser to Whitney Houston. (Kindly, Brunny continued to boogie around my prone, pained form, later telling me she just thought I was “just having a rest.”) This injury was exactly what I deserved for dancing to Whitney Houston. Wonder why I never got lucky?
2. Purchasing any more Mary would require more financial engineering nouse than even I’m capable of — where are those ex-super senior Babcock & Brown boys when you need them? Oh, that’s right, they’re on YACHTS in the MED*.
3. Fear of beetroot escaping down front from lunchtime sandwich.
Oh, and by the way, have I told you about the BEST PANTS EVER IN THE WORLD?!?
This is them: the Rag & Bone Malin. The grey ones reside in La Closetta Trivialista, and they are choice. Great length, flattering on bums and hips, teeny tiniest bit of stretch, and they’re Rag & Bone, so you immediately feel groovier than you are (that is, if you happen to be La). You can buy the salmon pinks here (and return free of charge if you no likey), the greys here, and even some black ones here, but only if you happen to be a US size 6.
They look skinnyskinny in the first picture, but don’t be put off. They are fab. And that’s from a woman whose backside is built for comfort, not speed.
La loves this jacket/gilet doozie from Sass. Looks slightly bizarre, but in the real flesh and blood it’s stunning. Sparkly studs on heavy linen. Who’d a thunk it? Would be a welcome addition to la closetta — we could make beautiful music together.
Enough consumerist clap trap. Time for a coffee.
*Apologies to readers married to nice, ethical former B&B boys. You know who you are.