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#shoesdaytuesday in the Fashion Cupboard at Condé Nast International - ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ this pair of Noritaka Takehana embellished heel-free beauties (decided they must belong to @penelopeflips - right @flashbuddah @littlemademoiselleparis @paulaseretny ?) (at Conde Nast International)

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From the archives (ie, down the back of the shoe closet): Shell games

When it comes to shoe shopping, I am a romantic. I fall in love first and do background checks later. This means I have a bad habit of investing in fab footwear in the heat of the moment, only to remember – too late – that there are already half a dozen similar items back in the shoe closet. So nowadays when hitting the sales I carry a mental checklist of shoe styles to steer clear of. These include:

leopard/zebra/dalmatian/tiger prints. All too easy to overindulge, especially in the last few seasons when they’ve been all over the high street like a scene from The Beasts Are On The Streets. With animal print a little goes a long way (especially if it’s blue*);

python and ostrich. Fake python or ostrich skin never looks as good as, say, mock-croc, while the real thing is a bit queasy-making unless done in moderation;

anything yellow. My wardrobe already contains far more lemon/canary/primrose than any sensible Celtic-complexioned person ought to have.

The corollary, of course, is the list of Shoe Types One Can Never have Too Many Of. For instance:

anything red, especially anything red and pointy;

anything gold;

anything tortoiseshell.

Tortoiseshell is rarely a problem because, generally speaking, there’s not that much of it about. This stunning pair of tortoiseshell patent “Fever” stilettos by Stuart Weitzman is a perennial classic (also available in other colours and finishes.) The tortoiseshell version featured in the September 2011 issue of US Harper’s Bazaar, which made me do a double-take as I’ve had mine for years.

Sad to say, even thgough I adore my “Fever”s they are the most uncomfortable shoes I own, bar none. They are so spectacularly narrow and high that putting them on is like squeezing your toes into a nutcracker. (Their popularity makes one wonder if the practice of foot-binding is more widespread than one might have imagined.)

Happily, there are no comfort issues with my latest acquisitions. Jonathan Kelsey has designed some of the most gorgeous tortoiseshell shoes of recent seasons, and, better still, he has collaborated with the UK department store Debenhams to make a super-affordable line. These shoe-boots (below) have 4-inch (10cm) heels, gold soles, and mushroom suede uppers. Patent tortoiseshell wraps around from toe to heel. They look good, and they feel great.

*Below, blue zebra-print heels by Balenciaga, as blogged by Anna Dello Russo in November 2011. Click here to see blue zebra-print heels blogged by me in July 2010.

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I first published this post on the original ShooCub blog on January 29th, 2012. The Stuart Weitzman stilettos are as beautiful and unwearable as ever.

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Finally checked out the new local Portuguese place #leweekend #Paris #shoeoftheday #ihavethisthingwithfloors (at Gloria Montmartre)

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One more from the amazing #Hive at #Kew Gardens this afternoon. Inside the #honeycomb structure you walk on a glass floor, while the sounds of #bees drone all around you, like an orchestra tuning up. Magic. #art #summerinLondon #Ihavethisthingwithfloors #shoefie (at Kew Gardens)

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So, this is a Thing that happens when you move house/job/country every couple of years, like your Shoeblogger: Packing Day.

This time it’s back to London after two and a half years in Paris. To be more precise, two and a half years and twelve assorted pairs of boots; about fourteen sandals/flip flops, summery slides; another dozen loafers, brougues, lace-ups, slip-ons and trainers; eight pairs of ballet flats (this is not counting the four – or was it five – pairs of ballet flats I packed in the office last week); and a bunch of wedges/heels/slingbacks/Zaha Hadid-designed footwear as art pieces.

And it’s not like I don’t have any shoes back in London. It’s standing room only in the Shoe Closet there, too.

Normally I’d be trying to do a purge today, as it would be simply impossible to ship this many shoes across Europe, let alone store them chez moi. (Of course, how many of them I’d ever wear is a moot point.) Fortunately, as I am not cutting all ties with la belle Paree, I don’t have to do anything that drastic. 

What I do have to do, however, is choose which ones I will need/want/pine for most during the next two weeks back in Blighty. Which is quite traumatic enough. Gold-toed bovver boots or gold-studded sandals? Blue metallic straps or blue ponyskin skaters? Black patent ankle boots or black patent slides? Argh…

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Shoehorn and I have been arguing about the colour of his latest footwear. I say those directional desert boots he scored in the sales last month are “primrose”. He says “lime”. We almost decided to agree on “cowslip”. 

Shoehorn does have an enviable line in desert boots. The new yellow ones (and the older dusty blue ones) are classics-with-a-twist from Clarks. Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about them: “Desert boots were officially introduced by [British company C&J] Clarks at the 1949 Chicago Shoe Fair. Inspiration came from the crepe-soled, rough suede boots made in Cairo’s Khan el Khalili bazaar for British Eighth Army officers. These boots were based on the South African veldskoen [and were popular with] soldiers for use in bush wars of the region." 

Shoehorn’s pale blue versions are Hush Puppies. Another classic brand, Hush Puppies was founded in the US in 1958 by Michigan based footwear manufacturer Wolverine Worldwide, who were developing a method of pigskin tanning for the American military. 

Hush Puppies got their name from a food: traditional fried cornballs. “On a trip to the southeastern United States, sales manager James Gaylord Muir dined with one of his regional salesmen and the meal included hush puppies... When Muir asked about the origin of the name, he was told that farmers threw hush puppies at the hounds to ‘quiet their barking dogs.’ Muir saw a connection to his new product – ‘barking dogs' [meaning] sore feet. Muir surmised his new shoes were so comfortable that they could ‘quiet barking dogs.'”

More HP lore: “Hush Puppies claimed their rubber soles saved the life of Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards when he accidentally touched his guitar against an ungrounded microphone at a 1965 concert in Sacramento, California. Richards was knocked unconscious, but medics believed that the crepe-soled Hush Puppies shoes he was wearing insulated him and saved his life.”

Pretty impressive, huh? From soldiers in South Africa to rock gods in Sacramento, a good pair of desert boots can save your life. Not bad for a pair of primrose lace-ups.

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OMG Rickie Lee Jones has a new album out (The Other Side of Desire) and a song about shoes. And not jot just any shoes: Jimmy Choos.

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Daddy I Want A Pony

I have a thing for blue ponyskin. Witness the blue pony-penny loafers I bought in Moscow three years ago, and the strappy blue zebra sandals by Head Over Heels from London (zebra, pony, close enough.) 

My latest blue pony purchase is these gorgeous skaters, from Minelli, Paris, the other week. Hot to trot, c’est moi.

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Spot the straps. A tiled floor in the Marais, and a girl whose sandals are a perfect camouflage.

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Olivia Newton-John killed my Via Spigas

Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away (the Selfridges sale, sometime in the 1990s) I bought a pair of black patent platform mules by Via Spiga, They had a slight jolie laide quality – the upper was really wide, and the amount of toe cleavage revealed was a bit more than fashion strictly demanded at the time. The proportions were, in short, off. But kinda fab. And they were mad comfortable.

Paired with wide pants, they nodded to the 1970s, but without the life-threatening element of serious platforms (of which I have several).

So when I was getting ready for my friend Grant’s achingly fashionable 50th birthday party at the Café Royal last month, and needed something to go with my vintage YSL trouser suit, it was either either the Via Spigas or a pair of Terry de Havillands. The Vias won on practicality grounds – I could dance in them.

And dance I did, after quite a bit of excellent champagne (from a private vineyard Grant had come across on his travels, natch.) Perhaps it was the 'poo, perhaps the gilded surrounds of the Oscar Wilde Room (it is rather dazzling), perhaps the sheer novelty of partying on a school night, but I found myself dancing to stuff I haven’t danced to since before I bought those shoes twenty years ago. Stuff like... Olivia Newton-John. (Grant is an Aussie. That’s his excuse.) And then I found myself feeling rather a bit wobbly.

I hobbled to a banquette, and Shoehorn steadied me as I sat down, understandably assuming I was drunk – but my head felt fine. Nonetheless, it seemed like a sensible point to call it a night, so I reached down to swop my heels out for flats. 

And – the shoes came apart in my hand. 

I looked down, and lumps of black stuff were all over the floor at my feet. My Via Spigas were literally disintegrating, the soles crumbling under my very eyes. 

Well, I guess the material of the soles had just become fragile with age, and a sudden onslaught of 80s disco tipped them over the edge. A sad end for a beloved pair of platforms, but at least they died on the dance floor. There are worse ways to go.

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To the V&A, to see the Shoes: Pleasure and Pain exhibition, wearing new studded sandals from Aldo. They’re a bit “nun on holiday at the Vatican,” but in a good way.

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Still Life with Red Bull (Havaianas). Heatwave in Paris. Sandy spot in Les Invalides. Hot.

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New shoes. A bit of black patent bootee action. Studio Pollini. Nice.

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Paris Fashion Week Shoe of the Day: shout out to the woman arriving at Mugler in the 70s coat and 5-inch-heel brown suede go-go boots, smart phone in one hand, 2-year-old daughter in the other. (The little girl's accessorising deserves a blog of its own.)

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Friday morning in Monoprix on Place de Clichy: gold sneakers with sky-blue laces, white jeans, and a shaggy lime green chubby. Gotta love Big Bird as fashion reference.

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January sale at Walter Steiger on rue Faubourg St Honoré. 70% off. Black patent or gold? Don't make me choose...

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Silver, ladies.

Monday: to Plymouth, Devon, for a sad occasion, a funeral. Dress code, "colourful." It was to be a celebration of a life, of a lady full of spirit, independence and joie de vivre. My mother-in-law, Mercia, who passed away just before Christmas. Somehow neither Jane nor I could bring ourselves to dress "colourful", but it seems we both felt M. would have enjoyed our silver lace-ups.

Friday: on the way home from dinner in Paris chez Carol and Lewis, after a midnight stroll along the Seine – spotted these silver buckle bootees waiting for the ascenseur at Abbesses. Mercia would have approved.