Twelve Months of Shoes

Did someone say shoe of the month?

Some time ago I became aware that there is such a thing as a shoe-of-the-month club. There are several, actually. One called Shoedazzle, styled by Rachel Zoe. A J. Crew one. One called Shoemint, where you can also tap into sister sites to buy bags, jewelry, and clothes, extra closet sold separately.

Naturally, this discovery led me to stroll down memory lane to the high-school days when I belonged to the Columbia House Record Club. There was nothing better than coming home at the end of a boring day at school and finding a package of Cure, R.E.M., and Depeche Mode cassettes (yes, cassettes), waiting in the mailbox.

Then it led me to recall the unfortunate year or two after college that I belonged to the

Wow, you need some really dry lips to join the lip balm of the month club, I’d think.

Book-of-the-Month Club and ended up with a book on dream interpretation (It seemed like a good idea at the time), and a cookbook from which I have made exactly two recipes, neither of which have come out that good.

Then I started wondering what other “of the month clubs” there are, which led me on a slightly hilarious journey.

Here are a few: Wine, craft beer, and coffee. Yum, yum, and yum. I’ve even come across a wine of the month club that sells wine by women vintners only, which is very cool. But did you know you can also do of-the-month clubs for cigars, dog treats, and jerky? Pass, pass, and pass. There are also monthly subscriptions for teddy bears, tea, chai tea (who knew there’s more than one kind of chai tea?), mustard, cheesecake, cupcakes, peanut-butter-and-jelly, hot sauce (not to be confused with the BBQ sauce club), pasta, pickles, soap and—wait for it—water. Yes, water. Or pardon me, fine water.

There are several, as I mentioned, on the more sartorial end of the spectrum. I confess to wanting, just an eensy-weensy bit, to join Birchbox, which sends makeup and product samples to your door, nestled in a cute little box, of course. There are so many of-the-month clubs that I wonder if there is a club of the month club, where you can try a different of-the-month club every month.

I wonder if there is a club of the month club, where you can try a different of-the- month club each month.

Actually, looking back at the list, it seems you could actually subsist only on items ordered from of-the-month clubs. That might be a project worth trying. I’d happily live on PB&J, pasta, cupcakes, and wine for a year, though the challenge would probably be fitting into the clothing-of-the month. I’d probably have to switch, then, to the lower-calorie water-of-the month club. But there would be soap, and coffee, and of course, I could always join the Book-of-the-Month Club again. I may never have to leave the house again.

 

Wedge Sandals and (not) Rethinking my Priorities

I hate to admit it, but it turns out I’m more shallow than I thought. Here’s what happened:

I was on my way to meet the lovely AA, who, p.s., can rock a denim skort like nobody’s business, and I was running late. We were on our way to my favorite brunch spot on Smith Street, where I already knew I’d be ordering the pancakes.

Skirt

My cute Lolë skirt. I was wearing it with a shirt, though.

I parked my car with two minutes to

spare, but was a solid six-minute walk away. Since one of my resolutions for 2013 was to be more timely, I broke into a jog. I haven’t been working out much, so it felt good, which I was noticing just as my ankle gave way under my cute little wedge sandal (despite the fact that they’re Clarks) and, well, there’s no good way to say this. I wiped out.

People stopped (this was in direct contrast to the time three years ago when I lost my shirtbalance and rolled like halfway down Ocean Parkway and no one cast as much as a glance in my direction). I stood up, and what do you think is the first thing I asked? Yep. “Did I tear anything?”

Now, by “anything” I meant my cute peach-colored Lilla P. cross-over top that I just bought at my most favorite of sample sales, and my adorbs grey and peach striped skirt by a sporty brand called Lolë from REI (if you think camping stores are not good places to buy cute skirts, rethink)– both of which I’d worn only two or three times. One of the good Samaritans looked down at my leg, and I could tell what she was thinking: “You didn’t tear your skirt, but you tore a hunk of skin off your knee.” Yes, but did I tear my shirt? My skirt? A nice man sipping an iced coffee said “Uh, no, but I think you’re pretty banged up.”

Clarks sandals

The culprit

With a goose egg forming on my knee and blood running down my leg, I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought back to that Ocean Parkway rolling incident from a few years back. I’d torn the knee of my favorite jeans. Even after the attention of an expert seamstress, you could see the stitches, so I’d demoted the jeans from going-out-to-a-nice-wine-bar-jeans to going-to-trader-joe’s-jeans.

AA reaffirmed that my clothes were intact, but was a bit alarmed at the state of my leg. However, some Bandaids, Neosporin, an ice pack, some pancakes, and a nice mimosa later, I felt a lot better. I have my priorities, after all.

 

Whither Worishofers?

You guys are cute and all. I just don’t think it’s going to work out.

After a recent shoe debacle that involved a pair of red Timberlands, the soles of my feet, and blisters the size of the drachma before Greece switched to the Euro, I began anew a quest for red sandals.

While on my journey I found myself regularly seeing these cute, well-priced cherry-red sandals by some brand called Worishofer. (When I went to Google them I remembered the brand as “Warshofsky” and found out about David Warshofsky who apparently is a TV actor who gets a lot of work, and also about Keith Warshofsky who is a criminal attorney in Tampa whom I hope I never have to call but you never know.). Then, I started noticing them on feet tooling up and down 7th Avenue in Park Slope the other day. Suddenly, they were everywhere.

Anyway, these sandals looked like the consummate old-lady shoes.  A little pattern cut into the leather. Thick-corked soles. Other styles had laces. They even had a medical-looking “plus” sign branding them as orthopedic shoes. So I just knew they were so grandma-like that I would never, not for one minute, be hip enough to wear them. Continue reading