Friday: tan Louboutin mules

It’s day four of spring. So why am I still wearing my winter clothes?? I’m so over it all — my coats, boots, sweaters. . . I’m even tired of my Laineys, so you know it’s bad. I feel like the winter collection was so long ago — I mean, even the final sales are a distant memory at this point.

Well, at least there were some harbingers of spring out on the streets today: ice cream trucks. In New York City, the music-box notes beckoning you to the blue-and-white trucks are a definite sign of spring. They make me think of lazy summers in my childhood, even though we never had ice cream trucks in my neighborhood. Guess it’s just one of those false memories — the Brady Bunch version of childhood that’s etched in my mind for no reason other than the fact that I watched far too much TV when I was a kid. (At least I don’t misremember my childhood home as a split-level ranch. Or my mom as having a shag haircut. Then again…) My pre-teen years were more about Slurpees than Mr. Softees, but that’s what happens when you grow up in Texas.

The worst part of this yearning, of course, is that in about six weeks, I’ll probably already be complaining about the heat and longing for the roasted chestnut sellers, the memory-triggering smell of the charcoal signaling the start of winter, the return of cashmeres and scarves and hats. And no, we didn’t have those growing up in Texas either!

Friday: black Prada floral pumps

… And here we go again!

New York Fashion Week officially starts today, so as a public service for all those fashionistas out there with plenty of time to kill while waiting for shows to begin, here’s a sneak preview of this blog’s namesake, the novel Some Like It Haute.

Look for the book version of Alex’s adventures in fashion on store shelves in just 19 days!

Wednesday: green ponyskin Manolos

Need an excuse to buy a new pair of shoes? Well, if you’re reading this blog, the answer’s undoubtedly no — but you may still want to score an invitation to the Some Like It Haute book launch party. One lucky winner will be chosen at random to get invited to the bash, scheduled for January 13 in New York City!

If you’d like a chance to meet the author and check out her shoes, have a few drinks and hobnob with the media and assorted smart-and-shallow types, just send an email with your name and email address. Deadline is midnight on Monday, January 9. Don’t worry, your info will not be resold or redistributed. We’ll only use it to let you know if you’ve won — and you may get an email with book news as the pub date approaches.

Good luck all — and start picking out your party shoes!

(P.S. Just so there’s no confusion, travel and accommodations aren’t included, alas.)

Friday: green pony Manolos

R. Kelly has built a cottage industry of his “Trapped in the Closet” urban melodrama (in case you’ve been, well, trapped in a closet, check out this very funny Cliff’s Notes summary). While I find the adulterers hiding in closets (not to mention the lusty little person hiding in a kitchen cabinet) vastly amusing, I think I could write my own, equally entertaining R&B opera about what’s trapped in my closet.

Here goes:

9 o’clock in the morning and the start of Regis shakes me
I’m showering and drying my hair oh so quickly for me
Then the voice in my head tells me to get outta the bathroom
Then I come out and look there and to my surprise I have no clue
Now I’ve got this dumb look on my face like what have I done?
How could I be so stupid to not lay out my clothes in the morning sun?
Must have lost the track of time, oh what was on my mind?
From the bed went to my desk, didn’t plan to read that long
Here I am quickly trying to pick out my clothes
Searching for my sweater, trying to match the skirt on the floor
Then I stretch my hands in front of me
Thought, “You can’t dress this way”
Looked in the mirror — looked crazy
Thought, “Woman, who looks this way?”
Brain said, “I got a meeting at ten”
Heart said, “Please don’t go out sloppy”
“Lordy I’ve got to leave home”
I thought my outfit was coming together
“Need some shoes, hurry up and look in the closet”
Heart said, “Don’t you look a mess or your rep is going down”
Brain said, “Why don’t you just wear the Manolos”
“Yes, except for one thing, you’ve worn them before”
Think, think… “Quick, look deep in the closet”
But before I search this darkest closet for better shoes…
Check under the bed (bed)
Then under the dresser (dresser)
I look at the closet (closet)
I pull myself together (together)
I walk up to the closet (closet)
I’m close up to the closet (closet)
Now I’m at the closet (closet)
Now I’m opening the closet (closet, closet, closet)…

Want to take a peek at what happens when the closet door finally swings open? Ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing entertainment, here’s Shoetopia. (Sorry Mac people — Windows PCs with Internet Explorer only for the moment.)

Friday: chocolate brown Valentino slingbacks

You know, my life might have been different if Amy Allen’s This Little Piggy Went to Prada: Nursery Rhymes for the Blahnik Brigade was around when I was a child.

Actually, not really, but I think I would have had some really cool dreams had my mother told me these nursery rhymes at bedtime. Instead I heard some weird stories about a Kitchen God who made kids but gave me mismatched ears because she was interrupted by a bathroom emergency. I swear to God! (Also, I always got weirded out looking up at my mom while she talked because everything was upside down and there wasn’t a nose above her mouth, and it made me laugh. Am I making any sense at all?)

Anyhow, a sample of the brilliance.

There was a young woman who lived in her Choos,
Though she once had a house in a smart Chelsea Mews.
So much on Jimmy,
The house had to go,
And with it, her Amex and husband in tow!

I’m warning my procreating friends now: Ask Auntie Alex to babysit and I’ll create some monsters in my craven image!