The shoes that ate Vancouver

You know how I go downtown almost every morning to check out my turf, right? Well the other day, I cut through Nordstrom on my way home and was overcome by a crowd of highly-excited women who appeared at a glance to be dressed in black blazers, black skirts, white blouses, and heels. They were scurrying around like bumper cars in a velvet-roped corral in the shoe section.

I didn't have a photo of bumper cars so this will have to do

Holy cow! Clearly I didn't get the memo and looked down at my bathmat white maxi coat, three-sizes-too-big white chinos, white DIY boob-cooler T-shirt and turtleneck, black Italian ankle boots, tower hair, and Joan Crawford red lips. I thought, hm, this might end badly for me.

What?! No memo?!

Had I missed the "filming in progress" signs and stumbled onto the set of a new David Lynch movie? Was this Purgatory!? To their credit, everyone looked great but in a mass-fabulous way that makes it hard to see the trees for the forest without a little neon pink tulle for focus. Blazered eye correction can do that to a person.

Blazered eye correction

Regaining my composure, I then noticed lines of anxious women in a phalanx along the perimeter of the store, all clutching shopping bags. And wait! They were being fed champagne. Whaaat? Where's my champagne? Quickly I spotted the head security guard looking like a god from central casting. I approached him with my best VIP face and asked, How do I get in?, What's happening?

Seeing red in the Louboutin shoe department

He explained that Christian Louboutin was expected on the premises in about 30 minutes to sign purchases of his footwear, then indicated the table and throne behind him where the maestro would sit. So the price of admission was new red-soled shoes, which clearly the lined-up women had paid, and apparently this was non-negotiable as no amount of seductive Norma Desmond eye bulging on my part would change his mind. I'm losing my touch.

Guess which one is me.

I wanted to tell these women, hey, I'll scribble on your old shoes for free! Maybe it's a good thing I left my folding card table, Sharpie, and lawn chair at home. Well, maybe not for free. I'd be like Lucy from Charlie Brown comics and charge 5 cents.

But really, all this fuss for a signature on a shoe? Isn't that weird? You're just going to put your stinky feet in there and literally drag his name through the mud. But maybe these disciples have shoe shrines in their homes and never wear them or are carried by servants when they go out. Maybe they will try to sell their shoes on eBay. Or maybe they've had the sweat glands in their feet surgically removed. Do they even do that? Could I make my millions with this idea? Would Louboutin invest?

My farked boots - post on them here. Note my signature. Free.

I wondered what would happen if Valentino had an in-store signing of thong underwear. Would women wear them? Can you sell pre-owned undies on eBay? Is there even a Mr. Valentino and does he make thongs?

As for me? I only wear diamonds on the soles of my shoes, baby. I find them in the thrift store. Priceless. Okay, maybe not diamonds, but they are still rocks of a sort. They get stuck in the cracks.

Goners. Days ago both shoes in the right pair cracked. I should have bought some Looboos.

I'll hook something up with Patti and Catherine when they go live later, Visible Monday/Not Dead Yet Style and #iwillwearwhatilike/Not Dressed as Lamb, respectively. (In fact, I linked up an Instagram photo for Catherine instead.)

Oh, I made a video of most of my posted outfits from October '15 to October '16, photos from here, Instagram, and a couple new ones.  I put this on IG too but this version is the original size. Much better.

THE VIDEO

That's all. Have a great week everyone!!!