Shoe Maketh the Repeller

And now, back to usual programming: Friday's premature sartorial ejaculation will now exist in real time and full. [Cut to post.]

sweater: T by Alexander Wang, jeans: Levi's, shoes: Alexander Wang

Sometimes (actually, I'd argue virtually most the time,) all it takes to really repel are the right set of shoes. I just read that aloud in a British accent and it was beautiful. I'll take this a step further (the initial sentiment, not the accent, though that wouldn't hurt either) and have you know I am currently clad in but nothing lest a white t-shirt, black exercise shorts and the ambiguous Miu Miu booties I still haven't decided to keep or return. I'm fickle, sue me. But never mind that, let's bring our attention back to the photos and literal walking dustbuster at hand. As you can see, in just a plain black sweater and jeans, I've been able to successfully halt traffic. Disregard the black town car, it defies the rules of the previous sentence, no New York license plate was present.

See what I mean otherwise? That is some grade A traffic-halting.

arm parties: DANNIJO and MR DANNIJO, duh. Photos by Naomi Shon

But let's delve into detail. The rules of this post may be slightly manipulated: while the jeans in question are fairly high waist and I am yet again emulating a urinating dog, there is something to be said about shoes making the repeller. It's not so much literal as it is a state of mind. Something feels inherently liberating about rejecting the inevitable discomfort almost immediately induced into a male onlooker and just running free, fur on foot. To again circle back to Friday's post and beat the dead Sex and The City horse. Through the six seasons fur shoes were introduced twice, seemingly as a tool to catalyst to fornication process. Carrie Bradshaw uses the aforementioned in season three to garner the affection of one very attractive European man and while the morning petals were deflowered, money was exchanged, that was less about the shoes more about the actual sex. Now let's fast forward to season five, when the shoes rear their hairy heads again while Carrie tries to alleviate the pain of poor bedroom circumstances, good relationship with none other than everyone's favorite: witty banter Berger. But try to remember that episode again, really try. When Carrie put the sex shop shoes on just after getting massively intoxicated with Berger on that night, he looks at her dumbfounded and falls asleep. Asleep! They don't do the dirty until the next morning, looking au-naturale, feeling pure, no shoe on any foot. The end.


Alas, with that very informative, hard hitting analysis on HBO subplots and character development, I now wish you a very happy Monday.