At the star-shaped intersection of Walton Street, Brompton Road, Pelham and Fulham Roads in South Kensington, known by fashionistas of all shapes and sizes as Brompton Cross, sits a slim, delicate sliver of a shop, all glass window displays and alluring, irresistable charm. It is called Guiseppe Zanotti. I pass it often on my way from A to B, (I walk everywhere, or at least, within a mile or so radius of home). And, like Audrey Hepburn's character in Breakfast at Tiffanys, I often stand gazing in the windows, wearing the same big black sunglasses, sipping a coffee & occasionally, taking a few snaps.
Altho I haven't yet actually purchased any shoes, I've gotten to know Tas, who works there, quite well. She's so lovely and is quite patient with me, like a Zen master, as passes on the wisdom of the talented Mr. Zanotti's gorgeous shoes (did you know, for example, that he designs the shoes for Balmain?)
It's funny that this season 'booties' are such star. (Such an unfortunate word, booty, and yet no one minds using it, despite or perhaps because there are so many stupid little post heads one can come up with) That, and thigh high boots, which I shall post on shortly. I remember back in the late 20th century, there were quite a few heeled short boots around, similar in shape to these (but without anywhere near the fun), and yet that trend came & went (in fact, I gave a few pair away to Oxfam, having never worn them). Last winter, I was so excited to get my simple clean black riding boots, and wore them everywhere, and now, they leave me flat.
Mr. Dot keeps saying that I must not buy into what I sell. In other words, he's fine with me blogging about fashion trends, but doesn't want me becoming a shopaholic.
He even pointed out rule number one for budding drug dealers: don't, under any circumstances, do your own drugs!
But still... sigh. It's weird, isn't it? This culture of 'want'. I suppose it's the nature of the beast. There's a tsunami in Samoa and the Pacific area, so many people have died in a single moment, life is so precious, so fleeting, death so.. random, and this all seems rather frivolous. So... Marie Antionette. (Speaking of which, have you seen Sophie Coppola's film of a few years back? If not: rent it ASAP. There's a scene where they're trying on little feather things for their hats, and comparing fans from Paris, in addition to shoes, and it hit me that of course: there were no giant handbags back then, because women didn't go walking around with everything they owned on their arm!)
Still: while I never got it about It bags, and am happy to wear the quirkiest, silliest, most un-designer of pocketbooks, I can't help but admire these objects of beauty for their craft. A girl can dream, can't she?
Stay tuned for the thigh highs. They will knock your socks off.
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