I have to admit I am a very lucky girl. When it comes to clothes, I have pretty much every staple a NYC gal could want–little black dresses from Marc Jacobs, Catherine Malandrino, and Les Copains, a gray knee-length Prada skirt, a Louis bag, duds and accessories from Chloe, DVF, and Dior… the list goes on and on.
But Josh felt that something was missing. My stint at a prominent fashion magazine allowed me access to some of the greatest sample sales around, and thus my shoe collection is hardly lacking. I have Carrie’s favorite Manolos–the silver peep-toe slingbacks with the rhinestone oval at the front. I own Dolce & Gabbana maryjanes in a pale shade of olive with a simple stiletto and ivory-hued piping. I was also lucky enough to add to my collection last spring’s montrous Dior sandals whose heels are comprised of little Buddha-esque statues. And yet, my friends, this picture-perfect collection was missing the quintessential shoe. The red sole. The Christian Louboutin.
I won’t share the words of the card with you because they were too sweet and I want to keep them just for me. But the gist was that, in order to be inducted into the status of a true New York fashionista, Josh felt I was missing one special thing. And damned if he was going to get me the “entry level” black pump. My boy knows me well, as you can see. He went beyond. They are the most beautiful shoes these feet have ever stepped into. They are nude silk with a black lace overlay. Somewhere in heaven, my grandma, “Gaga,” whose own collection rivaled that of the movie stars of her day, is doing a little dance. I’m dancing right along with her. I am in shoe heaven this Christmas. Thanks to my man.
|Dancing around the living room in the best Chrismy present ever|