Friday: Bottega Veneta ponyskin slingbacks

I had a boyfriend once who, as a kid, fell through a subway grate. He wasn’t really hurt — he didn’t fall far — but naturally he never walked over grates. And after hearing his story just once, most people didn’t either.

I certainly didn’t need a hard sell. Sure, I didn’t want to ever make an emergency landing on a subway platform, but mostly I didn’t want to ruin my heels. There’s an art to avoiding the grates: maneuvering yourself around plodding tourists on New York City streets, or if the mall walkers just won’t budge, tip-toeing over the smallest slivers of grate possible. There’s just nothing worse than feeling that slight tug when you take a step — realizing that another perfectly beautiful heel has just bitten the dust. Even if we’re not talking about full-on destruction, that scratch in the leather or nick in the wood is enough to make me cry. And you know that it’s just not the same again, once a shoe is broken in like that.

But lately, I’ve found that it’s not enough to avoid grates. You know how kids say, “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back”? Well, stepping in cracks can also break your heart. (And it can embarrass you too — how many times have I almost stepped out of my shoe when the heel got caught in a crack and then had to pretend that I was simply pausing in the middle of the street?) Is it just me, or are the cracks getting more treacherous here? Forget about potholes. Mayor Bloomberg, let’s throw some money into the sidewalk maintenance budget! For the good of all the shoes in New York!

Wednesday: Prada snakeskin slingbacks

With 87 days left before Christmas, it may seem premature for me to be fretting about making my list and checking it twice. But the truth is it’s not. Because guess what just came in the mail: the Neiman Marcus Christmas Book.

This isn’t quite as bad as seeing all those Halloween decorations on the shelves when you duck into an icy air-conditioned store to get out of the scorching heat of August, but it does have the same result: a cold sweat.

Last year, I was really disappointed in myself. I used to be so conscientious about holiday presents; I’d plan well in advance and come up with just the perfect gift for people. But more recently I’d been too busy or maybe just too lazy — I’m ashamed to admit that I was resorting to gift certificates for all my immediate family members. (And I must say, my sister was doing the same, so I might as well have just handed some cash to her and then taken it back. In fact, I think I did do that, only half in jest.)

So this year, I vow to start thinking about my friends’ and family’s gifts post-haste. And I’m going to start with the Neiman’s book. I vow to have the best list ever by Columbus Day. And I’m going to have creative wrapping too!

Of course, all this foresight also means that I shall be returning to my childhood practice of writing my wish list and promulgating it long before the first frost. I’m not even half way through the Neiman’s Book and I’ve already found the first item that I’m going to tell Santa about: the Louis Vuitton monogram multicolore jewelry case, available for a mere $44,200. Did I mention that Santa will be winning the Powerball lottery sometime between now and making his rounds on Christmas Eve?

Monday: tan Prada wingtip flats

Sometimes when I’m shopping, I feel like a character in Greek mythology. Sadly, not Aphrodite or Helen or even a minor muse. I’m thinking Tantalus.

A refresher: Tantalus was the son of Zeus whose punishment for some affront to the gods was to have to stand neck-deep in water, but when he leaned down to drink, the water would recede; and though fruit trees were overhead, the fruit would be just out of reach. Thus the word tantalize.

So I’m not talking about seeing from across the room the most beautiful pair of ostrich Gucci mules and then finding out they don’t have your size. No, that’s too easy. Not nearly painful enough. It’s more like when you see the mules. . . your salesman finds your size. . . but then the left shoe is missing. Oh, so close! So then the salesman tells you that it must be here somewhere, that it’s just probably been put in the wrong place in the stockroom, and so he’ll look for it later and send the pair to you.

And the other shoe never drops (in your lap or anywhere else).

Or it’s when you see the cutest pony skin Isabella Fiore handbag on saks.com — the black version of this one — and you run over to the store to have a look, but they just sold the last one. So the saleswoman checks the computer and sees that the store in Pittsburgh has two of them, and she takes your Saks card and places the order for you, and tells you that you should receive it in a week, and “Enjoy!”

And then ten days later . . . nothing. Worse, two weeks in, the saleswoman calls you to ask how you’re enjoying the bag. What bag?! You tell her you never got it. So she tells you she’ll look into it. And she never calls you back. Three weeks after that fateful day you saw the bag online, and almost got it, and then didn’t, and then were practically taunted by the woman who was supposed to have gotten it for you . . . nothing. Nada. Zilch. And while you were waiting, the item sold out on the website.

To add insult to injury, of course, any day now I’ll get that form letter from Saks saying they’re sorry, but the item I ordered is out of stock. It’s like a Dear John letter for a jilted shopper.

Yeah, that’s tantalizing. And that’s no myth.

Friday: black and white Louboutin slides

I’m going to a wedding this weekend, and though I’m not a bridesmaid this time, it got me thinking about my adventures in bridesmaiding. I’ve been in, let’s see. . . my college roommate’s, another college friend’s, my sister’s, . . . um, five weddings? No, wait. Six — hmm, could that be right? I thought it was a lot higher than that. But maybe that’s just because I’m feeling the collective pain for all the women out there who’ve made the rounds. You know we’ve all had to do it.

I’m not saying that I hated all the dresses that I’ve worn. It’s just that bridesmaid dresses have a stigma attached, if only because they remind you of the night you had to dress exactly like one. . . eight. . . twelve other women (and you know how I feel about that). While I’ve heard of brides who’ve dyed their wedding gowns a different color, had them altered and actually worn them again, there’s usually not much of a future for bridesmaid dresses — well, not for you anyway. I have donated a few to charities that provide free prom dresses to underprivileged girls, which is a pretty cool idea.

But I did say usually. Believe it or not, not only did I actually recycle one of my bridesmaid dresses — but get this, I wore it to the Emmy Awards! (Full disclosure: I was maid of honor and got to pick the thing.) It was a slinky navy floor-length dress, with silver metal straps. And it just so happened that Jennifer Aniston was also wearing a long navy dress that night, so I was feeling pretty proud of myself. . . See, there is hope for all the bridesmaids out there!

Wednesday: brown Manolo mules

. . . and my shoes, and my clothes, and my handbags and . . .

For several years now, I’ve been thinking about buying an apartment. The key word being “thinking. ” Truth be told, I shopped while the housing market burned. And now that the prices have become so absurdly high (I recently looked at a tiny one bedroom, maybe 500 sq. ft., with no light and windows looking out to a brick wall — and an asking price of $420,000), buying an apartment seems less and less urgent.

If that seems like poor financial logic — some might say that I should buy now before prices get even higher — I think it’s actually very good fashion logic. After all, why tighten your belt and scrimp and save for a place that wouldn’t even be big enough to contain my wardrobe? I mean, it is simply ridiculous to pay $420,000 for 500 square feet. In comparison, spending $500 for a pair of shoes seems practically frugal! And while that apartment (and others like it) will still be around months from now, and I still won’t want to live in it, those new Manolos probably won’t still be at Bergdorf’s, and I sure will still want them!

In case you hadn’t noticed, I am the queen of rationalization. A queen with a rented castle, sure, but also with royally fabulous accessories!