Monday: Louboutin black sandals

Contrary to popular belief, August is the cruelest month.

Fall clothes are in the stores, while the dog days of summer still drag on. Like Tantalus, so close and yet so far…

It wasn’t always this way. When I was a kid, August meant that school was just around the corner. No matter what the weather was like outside, by Labor Day we were back in the 68 degree clime of the classroom, starting over with a blank slate. And while for most kids that was indeed a cruel thing, for me it meant the joy of back-to-school shopping: cabled sweaters and wool skirts and knee socks (though growing up in Texas I could wear those things for a grand total of, oh, two weeks in December before T-shirts went back into rotation), plus brand-new pencils and paper and crayons (the big box with the sharpener in the back, natch). Heaven knows my last year’s crayons were barely used — and the maize and raw umber ones, not at all — but boy did I throw a tantrum if I didn’t get a new box. Come to think of it, that’s how I act when my accountant tells me I can’t get yet another pair of black Jimmy Choo knee-high boots with three-inch heels every fall!

Friday: Louboutin espadrilles

I lead a double life — at least that’s what a glimpse into my closet would tell you. I confess that I’ve accumulated a whole wardrobe of limousine heels, red-carpet gowns and kaftans for Marrakesh. (My sister also has a fantasy wardrobe — cashmere and fur, in L.A. — but that’s another story.) For every sensible Carolyne slingback, there’s a four-inch jeweled silver stilettos from Manolo. (My crocodile Pradas are taxi shoes; these are limo shoes.) And for every Dolce little black dress, there’s a floor-length, mesh-covered Lainey tube dress. I have no idea where I’d wear most of these items, but in the store I gazed at them longingly and knew I had to have them. In some cases they were on sale — just too good to pass up. On other, thankfully rarer occasions — in those depression shopping moments, or perhaps manic shopping moments — I didn’t even have that “but it’s 70% off… $5,000!” excuse. Shame, shame on me.

Some days I visit my fabulous life in my closet. I’ll pull out these exquisite items and parade around the apartment in them — sometimes all at once, for glamour overkill. Then I wrap them back up in tissue paper and put them away, for another day, another life. Hope springs eternal: Oh, the places they’ll go!

Wednesday: Prada crocodile thongs

I really thought that I was more of an equal opportunity shopper. But I’ve come to the undeniable conclusion that I have too many Prada shoes.

Too much Prada, you ask? Well, take a look at the past two months’ worth of pictures. I just checked and 16 of them are Prada. Like half! How did it come to this? How did I become so… uncreative?

I remember the very first pair of Pradas I bought. It was early 1996, probably February — the collection before the iconic purple and green cherry-blossom print dress that I dreamt of for years… until the Prada store in Soho opened and began carrying “Prada classic” pieces, including that dress. For some reason that just offended me — like, fake vintage. Like Coke Classic.

But anyhow — back to 1996. I was young and underpaid, and about to move to London, so of course what I really needed was a pair of Prada black and white leopard print ponyskin ankle-strap shoes. Well, duh! I lusted after those shoes — and the matching coat too. (It was all very Cruella de Ville. I still think of them as my dalmation shoes even though they’re supposed to be leopard.) Finally, one snowy day I went to Barneys — the original Barneys downtown — and miracle of miracles they were on sale, marked down from the then-astronomical original price of $395. (Oh, those giddy days when the most expensive shoes retailed for less than $400!) Even on sale, they were really still out of my budget. I also vaguely recall that the rather cute shoe salesman made some sort of remark about how I looked like the kind of girl who didn’t need to worry about walking — I’m not sure how I should have taken that. But with his endorsement, I nervously pulled out my brand spanking new Barneys card and slapped it down. Sold to the girl who looks like she’s about to pass out!

So how many times do you think I wore them? I could count them on one hand. But how many times do you think I gazed longingly at them the first month I owned them? That’s right: totally worth every penny. I hadn’t seen them in years, until I was looking in my closet the other day and I found them again, the Rosebud of my young-adult shopping life. They still had that new leather smell (my madeleine, truly, though that is probably one mangled cultural reference too many). Thinking of how excited and thrilled and nervous I was when I bought them — thinking of that more innocent time — just gave me a warm feeling inside.

And that, I figure, is why I keep buying Prada shoes.

Or at least that’s a better story than just admitting that I have a problem.

Monday: cream Prada rosette mules

I have a friend, a transplant from the West Coast, who likes to “let the dogs run free.” Get your mind out of the gutter; I’m talking about his footwear. Unaccustomed to having to cover his toes for most of the year, he can almost be forgiven for wearing flip-flops and, yes, sandals (the reason for the word “almost” in this sentence; male sandals really creep me out) well into autumn.

He’s not the only one, of course. There was that whole flap over the Northwestern University women’s lacrosse team’s wearing flip-flops at the White House, and more recently the Fairchild publications felt compelled to sternly lecture their interns not to wear flip-flops to work. Whether you think they look sloppy or not, you have to admit they are a step up from the running shoes Melanie Griffith wore with her pantyhose and junior executive suits during her morning commute in 1988’s Working Girl. (And in that unfortunate decade in fashion, for a large number of working women, it was a case of cinéma verité.)

Still, from a fashion standpoint, flip-flops really look best with a nice tan and lots of sand. So unless you work on St. Barth’s, perhaps you should look into other options for your office footwear. If you want to let your dogs run free, choose a nice thong. Again, head out of gutter: I mean for your feet!