Irregular Bites.

Last night I caught "Reality Bites" on TV and, a) wondered why Janeane was always stuck playing the gawky, ugly one (maybe cuz she believed it? Sometimes I think "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" is actually semi biographical) and b) began to love her bad Nineties vintage wardrobe-- especially those chunky shoes.

That's our girl... third from the left. Are you telling me she wouldn't be perfectly in sync on Wardrobe Remix?

This spurred me on to a visit to the lay person's Giuseppe Zanotti (and then some), Irregular Choice. Lord, get me a job, so I can give these beautiful damn shoes a loving home.
I love unusual heels, and I think you'll begin to see a pattern here. These are unique enough to be different, but in a reserved enough hue to be versatile. I love the paper-bag top and the seemingly tiny toe.

In the perfect shade of bubble-gum pink, and patent, too. These seem like one of those wild-card "musts" that you're grateful you own when you pull them out to wear every six months--- for the next 20 years.

True fact: I spent a short stint working as a beer-maid at the Hofbrauhaus, smocked peasant top and knee-highs included. If only these were part of the uniform... all that's missing is a lonely goat-herd.

Lady Gaga came to mind when I saw these works of architecture. Like there isn't an occasion to wear these? How about every occasion??? Or howabout just a short trench coat and some mean-ass sunglasses?
Ok, Danny Sullivan, STFU. These are like sartorial magic. It's like if fire and a tranny went toe-to-toe in the ring. Tee-kay-oh.
Again, with the heels, I know. This one reminds me of a teetering stack of books, and I feel that librarian-esque garb --sweater, tortoiseshell glasses, tweed skirt-- would be absolutely apropos.
Why the hell did I pick these? Why can't I stop staring at them? They're so disturbingly stultifying, and yet... there are some things in life that I look at and think, "These are for Rumi, and Rumi only." Girl, get these. Wear them with denim shorts and a fur jacket. Can't fail.




As if these lovely cantilevers were made just for me. I'd put them under a bell jar and just stare at them all day, then get my Ginger Rogers on in 'em at night.

Irregularly yours,

Elissa.