No Manolos

March 25th, 2008
Tonight I went to a local fashion show that had catwalks, djs, pretend paparazzi and free wine. I wore my red Converse low tops, black pants, black tshirt, black overcoat, black purse. I was old and unhip. My haircut was bad. My hair color was worse. My hairdresser was there, and after a couple of glasses of wine, I confronted him about never being available for an appointment because he’s so reclusively hip. As a result, I told him, I had to go to a less hip stylist to get my roots done. He looked at me pityingly and suggested that one of his flying-monkey stylists could deal with me because he was so busy cutting more important hair. I shrunk into my too-big, dammit-it’s-cashmere coat like a Wicked Weak Witch and realized that, yes, I am only worthy of a minion’s trim. I could have worn my Manolos tonight, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I could have worn diamond ear studs or nose studs or labia studs and it wouldn’t have mattered. I could have had a flying wedge of an entourage, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Because I need to be reminded that no matter how many embarrassingly expensive shoes I buy, I’m still a barefoot Kentucky girl at heart and that I need to stop reacting with the gut of the girl who got chosen last in gym class. Because sometimes, most of the time, barefoot is better.

One Response to “No Manolos”

  1. Jolina says:

    Hmmmm…you decided to go back to school at 29 and finished (which I think is great!! Gives me inspiration), you have a very successful magazine, you are smart, cultured, and a very well rounded STRONG WOMAN! If anything, your hair stylist does not deserve to even look at or touch your hair! Keep doing what you do! You are FABULOUS!!!