THE GREY AREA

My job has certain but definite hazards. I work 2 blocks from Saks’s 8th floor of Shooze, 4 blocks from Bergdorf Goodman’s shoe department, 1 block from Jimmy Choo, 1 block from Manolo Blahnik,2 blocks from Prada, 3 blocks from YSL, 8 blocks from Barney’s and across the street from Fendi, Bottega and Versace. It’s a lethal location for my budget if you like shooze as much as I do. And since I just wrote checks yesterday for the boys’ baseball camps and made the financial commitment to rip up my moldy basement carpet, bleach wash the floors, repaint and install new carpeting, I find myself with no leftover ca-ching for my nasty lil’ shoe compulsion. But just because I can’t buy, doesn’t mean I can’t look and appreciate the finer things in life, right? One thing that was as clear to me as black and white – I was going to go for a walk during lunchtime but I was not going to make any purchases. I was going to show some restraint and just ogle the sights. Black and white. Clear and straightforward. In my head.


And so, I started on my excursion and went for a walk to the 8th floor of Saks, 10022.

AND HOLY SHIT, that’s when all the grey came flooding towards me and confused me entirely. A grey area is where there are no clear rules, where concepts become hazy and causes havoc on what I thought I understood. I saw grey Prada. Grey Christian Dior. Grey Jimmy Choo. Grey Gucci. Grey Oscar de la Renta. Grey Alexandre Birman. Charcoal, slate, gunmetal, dove, oyster, pearl and many more hues of grey. They surrounded me. Fucked with my head. Toyed with my resolve. Charcoal commanded, “Just do it”. Gunmetal purred “I’ll make it worth your while”. Dove cooed “Baby, I belong to you”.

And that’s when I saw a sign. A sign that made everything make sense. It said PRE SALE IN PROGRESS. It meant that all of the yellow stickered shooze were going to go on sale in one week by 30% off. So you see, life is only sometimes black and white. I did make it off the floor without massacring my wallet. But damn it, I love grey areas. Because I’m coming back next week when I get paid and I’m gonna get me a pair of one of those grey temptresses. WOOSAH!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
From top:
Christian Dior, Perforated Strappy Sandal
Gucci, Venus Front-Zip Platform Sandal
Alexandre Birman, Python Cage Sandal
Prada, Peep Toe Slingback
Jimmy Choo, Mostyn Lizard Embossed Sandal
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

SHOE ADDICTION

I was really saddened to hear the news of Simon Monjack’s death this past Sunday. I really believe that he died of a broken heart, consumed with grief over Brittany Murphy’s recent death. I started to think about Brittany’s movie roles and how many of the troubled characters she portrayed suffered from various addictions. In Clueless, Tai likes her cocaine. In Bongwater, she is a pot dealer. Girl Interupted sees her addicted to valium. Spun portrays her as a meth addict. Some people believe her real death resulted from a dependency and addiction to prescription drugs. All of these addictions are clearly detrimental, but are addictions always bad? I think Simon was addicted to loving his wife. I think he needed her and couldn’t live without her. R.I.P. Brittany and Simon.

Drug addiction, tobacco addiction, gambling, internet addiction, sex addiction, exercise addiction, work addiction, cutting, pornography, shopping addiction, spiritual obsession, food addictions. What does addiction mean to you? I did a workshop last week where we explored its meaning. It’s definitely an obsessive compulsive disorder. Webster’s defines addiction as the state of being enslaved to a habit or to something that is psychologically or physically habit forming, such as narcotics, to such an extent that that its cessation causes severe trauma. Here are just a few of my many addictions.

• Limes – I need them in my margaritas, in my mojitos, squeezed on my grilled corn on the cob and in my guacamole. We go through about two dozen limes a week in my household. If I stopped having lime, I would be traumatized for real.
• The smell of baby powder – I don’t think I could live without nuzzling and burying my face into my children’s freshly bathed and powdered necks.
• Music – I love it so much and I am enslaved to how it makes me feel and can transport my moods. If I didn’t have music in my life, there would be no joy.
• Pole dancing – since I started, over four years ago, it has really changed my life. I am addicted to the movement, to spinning and flipping and reenacting how to fly like a real live superhero. If I ceased this compulsion, I would probably die from missing out on all that fun.
• Creating with my hands – this is crucial to the fabric of my existence. Whether it is knitting or painting or building legos, I have a compulsive need to make things with my hands. Maybe I traded one addiction for another because I no longer smoke cigarettes since I started to knit.
• Shooze – if I excluded them from my life, my heart would break for sure. And my feet would probably blister if I walked around barefoot – that’s pretty traumatic, don’t you think?

I really, really need and have an affinity for all of the above in my life and I think without them, I would be pained, stressed and despondent. So my conclusion is, not all addictions are treacherous.

Gisele Stiletto, available at http://www.sfactor.com/
Music: Faster Kill Pussycat, featuring Brittany Murphy

BROOKLYN, HOME OF THE UBER HIPSTERS

This morning, I ran the Brooklyn half marathon for the second year in a row. I fell in love with the race last year because I think Brooklyn is home of the hipsters and coolest people around. Besides the uber cool people, it has some of the most beautiful attractions around. Let’s start with the Brooklyn Bridge and let me brag for a moment. I am related – by marriage – to John Roebling, the engineer and builder who erected this first and oldest steel wire suspension bridge in this country. Jackis’ great aunt married Ferdinand Roebling, and in fact, Gussy Man’s name for the first day of his life was Ferdinand. We later changed his name to August on the second day of his life, realizing that he was more of a Gus than a Ferd. I drove across the Brooklyn Bridge this morning, always in awe of its beauty and never surprised that it is on the National Historic Landmark list in our country. The race starts in beautiful Prospect Park and ends with the final mile being run on the Coney Island Boardwalk where your feet pound on the boardwalk to the sites of the Cyclone rollercoaster and Nathan’s original hotdog stand.

You are probably wondering why The Mamagirl is giving you a tourist attraction lecture when what I’m really interested in are high heeled shooze. Well, let me tell you something…today, in uber cool Brooklyn, I saw my share of hip footwear. There were a handful of runners wearing the fivefingered barefoot shooze – you know, the ones that look like webbed frog’s feet. But what really caught my eye was the Amazonian lady runner who was TALL and bouncing as she ran. I craned my neck to see what she had on her feet but couldn’t see. So I sprinted through some runners to find her….and there she was. She was over 6 feet tall and running in high heels…my ultimate dream! When I came home, I immediately researched this foreign concept to find out that they are called Kangoo Jumps. They have only recently come to the east coast this spring, however I can trace them back to the west coast as early as 2008. They look like a ski boot with bindings and are set on oval springs that allow you to jump like a kangaroo. They were designed for runners to take the impact off of stress injuries to joints, such as my sore knees! Check out this video of this jumping jogging gurl http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lukq3HjvYkk
They look like so much fun and I know fads are fads…but I have a feeling I’m gonna be ordering me some of those Kangoo Jumps soon. Stay tuned.

Kangoo Jumps, http://www.kangoojumps.com/

MY SHOE COMMITTMENT VOWS

Finally! The weather in NYC has finally taken a warmer turn, allowing me to shed my cardigans and jackets and pull out the sandals! You will probably be surprised to see me profiling a low sandal with no heel. It is true, I DO love lots of height in my shooze – I am, after all only 5’ 3” tall so I need to take any help I can get. Most people who know me are surprised when I tell them my true height. I say, “You probably think I’m taller because I’m always in 4+ inch heels, right?” To which they usually respond, “No, I think it’s because your voice is so loud and booming, that’s why I assume you are a big person.” Well, whatever the reason, I enjoy my love affair with sky scraper high heels. I like them well enough to splurge ridiculous amounts of money to give me some height, but I have a real problem spending a lot of money on a FLAT shoe. That is why these Hermes lizard sandals – at $ 1,150 a pair - have a very small probability of ever joining the ranks of my shoe collection.

Now, I say VERY SMALL probability. I didn’t rule it out entirely. You see, there is a sliver of a chance that one day I will own them. Let me tell you why. This is a BIG nugget of information about The Mamagirl that I haven’t given you before, so pay attention. I’m about to tell you my real name. There is a slight chance I will own these H sandals because they speak to me, they call out to me, and this is what they say:

“HEIDI, come buy me, love me, nurture me, cherish me for all of eternity, in good times and in bad. Promise to love me without reservation. Stand by my side and I will be with you in mind and in spirit.  Our future together is bright.”

That’s right. These are my very own personalized sandals. This old Eskimo love song speaks eloquently and precisely of how I feel about these sandals

You are my shooze
My feet shall run because of you
My feet dance because of you
My heart shall beat because of you
My eyes see because of you
My mind thinks because of you
And I shall love because of you

It would make a tinsy bit of sense if I lost my mind one day and impulsively bought them because I have a legitimate right to own them and they would be very appropriate on my feet. So, sorry to all my shoe loving friends, but Nina, Donna, Wendy, Kim Marie, Anne E, Candace, Christy, Nancy E, Susana and Genny–these sandals would look stoooopid on you and pardon my French but back the fuck away from MY sandals and go find your own luxe brand of shoe with your monogram to covet. I’m not so worried for Candace and Christy because those cute lil Chanel flats sport your monogram. Genny won’t have a hard time either, as long as she likes the interlocking double Gucci’s Gs. But the rest of you? You may have to go barefoot this summer, sorry.

Hermes, oran lizard sandal, lime

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS...WHAT ABOUT A VIDEO?

I'm not writing tonight.  Instead, I'm feeling more graphic and need a visual.  So, that's what I'm giving you too.  Here, is a very special insight.  For once, I am not covering up and hiding my face...can you see me? I am The Mamagirl and this is what my domesticile is like on a typical Wednesday night

POLE DANCING IS FOR REAL MEN

OMG, what is all the brouhaha over Rima Fakih not being able to retain her title because she won a pole dancing competition? Frankly, I just don’t get it. I don’t understand why pole dancing would strip her of the Miss USA title. In my opinion, the negative connotation clearly lies with a very misinformed public. I have been following this story –I am part of the mamagirl blogging community and have read all the salacious judgments passed on this poor girl. Mostly, I have read judgments on her from other women. Where, I ask you, is the united sistahood? Why can’t women support other women’s choices, no matter if they themselves would choose not to engage in the same interests? Why can’t diversity be appreciated? I suspect that most women who are condemning pole dancing as an inappropriate and smutty pastime have never actually taken the time to watch a performance. Before you decide that pole dancing is for hoes, I encourage you to watch and be mesmerized by the movement. You will see that the individual elements and tricks fluidly blend into one seamless dance. Pole dancing is balletic. It is acrobatic. It is hypnotic because the poses and contortions are improbable. It requires immense strength of one’s core, forearms, back, shoulders, thighs, ankles, neck and honestly, every imaginable muscle.

I wonder if you know of the ancestor to modern pole dancing, going back as far as the 12th century to the ancient Indian practice of Mallakhamb. If you think pole dancing is only for women, think again. Mallakhamb is a traditional form of ancient Indian exercise involving gymnastics and yoga practiced by boys and men. The sport is intensely spiritual and meditative – mirroring my sentiments exactly when I pole dance. The exercises can be performed on a rope, a fixed pole or a hanging pole. Mallakhamb is rigorous and its conditioning benefits are great for strength training, the circulatory system, coordination and concentration. Some regimens of the Indian army and the police academy have their officers regularly practice Mallakhamb to keep them physically fit and to unite them to their culture and history.

So here is The Mamagirl’s challenge….I challenge you to watch this short YouTube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7MUjFliBNk  The boy is far less clad than any pole dancing gurl. His pole is far more phallic (with a head, no less!) than any stainless steel shiny stripper pole. Do you pass judgment on this boy? I would be solidly proud if my son had the strength and coordination to move like this.

Pleaser Women’s Teeze-04-R Platform Pump, Rhinestone

SHOE CANDY ON MAMAGIRLS DAY

Happy Mamagirls' Day to all you mamagirls out there!  I started my day at 6:30am when my blackberry alarm woke me.  I got up, pulled on my running gear and drove to the deli for a jolt of caffeine and started my drive into NYC where I was scheduled to run the R Baby Foundation 5K Mother's Day Run in Central Park.  It was a beautiful, quiet and peaceful day to start the morning.  I usually run to upbeat, pounding music, but sometimes in the early, breezy mornings I like to run to opera and other classical pieces.  This morning, I ran with Andre Bocceli, Sarah Brightman, Luciano Pavorotti and Renee Fleming.  For all you mamagirls out there, you know what a treat it is when you can manage some quiet time away from the noise and chaos of the domesticile. 

As I crossed the finish line, I checked the time.  It was only 8:40am and I was due to have Mother's Day brunch at 11:30am with my own mamagirl, one of my sisters and our avalanche of children.  I had plans to shower at my gym...but what was I going to do for all the rest of that time?  I exited out of Central Park on the east side and all of the sudden, it dawned on me...I COULD STROLL DOWN MADISON AVENUE AT MY LEISURE AND MAKE A MAMAGIRLS' DAY MENTAL GIFT REGISTRY!  And so that's what I did.  Following, please find how much trouble you can get into during an only 9 block walk from 72nd to 63rd Street.  It's a very good thing that all of these stores were closed and that I did not have my already over extended credit card in hand. 

SIGERSON MORRISON

SONIA RYKEIL

CHLOE

GUCCI BOOTS

GUISEPPE ZANOTTI

HERVE LEGER for MAX AZRIA

ROGER VIVIER

JIMMY CHOO

 

PRADA

VALENTINO

DIOR SHOWROOM

CHANEL CLOG

What is The Mamagirl's favorite, you may ask?  That's a no brainer.  My favorite, hands down, were the little shooze on the little feet of my sons, my neices and nephew, below.  What's a better way to spend Mamagirl's Day? 

KINDERGARDEN + POLEDANCING = PHONE CALL FROM THE TEACHER

OMG, where do I begin today?

Alright, let’s start with my good intentions last night. I came home timely from the office. I was feeling a little guilty and slightly unfulfilling of my domestic duties because the night before, I made Jackis a delicious homemade chicken parmesan cutlet. But that was it. No veggie, no starch. It was not a balanced meal. As I served the plated entree sans sides, I was met with somewhat of a frown. It stuck with me the next day. What was balanced about this so-called meal? My own mamagirl used to serve a protein, a starch and a green veggie every night of my life. My sister is an accomplished Cordon Bleu trained chef. And while I have confidence that my culinary skills are well above par, when it comes to making a meal after being in the office all day, I totally suck.  That’s why I decided that I was going to try my very best in the domestic arena last night.

I came home and I pulled out the artichokes and the zucchini from the fridge. I was going to grill them and brush them with olive oil and garlic. I also pulled the lettuce, avocado, tomatoes, red onion, baby cucumbers, lemon, olive oil and sliced turkey from the fridge and started to chop up a salad. I was feeling truly Nigella-esqe --like a real life Domestic Goddess…and it felt good. Until BRLINNNNGGG, BLIINNNGGGG…the telephone started to ring….

THE MAMAGIRL: Hullo?
KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: Hello, Mamagirl? It’s Gus’ teacher. Sorry to bother you at night, but do you have a minute?
THE MAMAGIRL: Of course, wassup?
KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: Well, umm….well, I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow’s Mother’s Day Breakfast.
THE MAMAGIRL: Yes! I’m looking forward to it!!
KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: Well, umm, well,..I don’t really know how to phrase this to you..
THE MAMAGIRL: Just spit it out, I'm easy.
KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: Well, ummmmm. We are doing a project where we interviewed the kids and asked them what their mom is good at, or what their mom likes.
THE MAMAGIRL: That sounds like a great project! I can’t wait to see what all the kids said tomorrow when I come for the breakfast. (It’s not often that I get to drop my kids at school and have them feel like I’m a dedicated mom, away from my working life. I can’t WAIT to take them to school tomorrow! So excited!)
KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: Well, umm. …I need to talk to you about what Gus said when we interviewed him. Ummm…well, when we asked him what Mommy is good at…ummmm, he said, ummmm “she’s a fantastic dancer. On the pole”. And he drew a picture and everything. Ummm, I need to ask you about your reaction and what you think we should do about this…” I suggested to him that we say Mommy is a good dancer, but he was INSISTENT that it was on a pole.

I could feel KINDERGARTEN TEACHER blushing through my Verizon service wires.

Well, don’t you know that that made me proud and I love my Gussy Man even more. I explained to the teacher that yes, I poledance as a form of exercise, but no, I am not a stripper and my clothes do remain on. I explained that I have de-stigmatized the improprieties associated with poledancing to my children and that they appreciate it as an art form. But I am a lucid mamagirl.  I recognize that others might not feel this way, and that is why I told her that she should not offend other kindergarten parents at the Mother’s Day breakfast tomorrow with Gus’ diary excerpts of our domestic life hanging on the classroom wall. Instead, we agreed that she would change it to “My Mommy Likes to Dance”. But only with the caveat that she would give me his original script so that when I am a grandmother, I can look back and appreciate the words of my incredible son. I already appreciate his words and love that as a 6 year old, he does not disgrace the art form of  poledancing.  And this is all going to cash in someday if and when he patronizes a stripclub as an adult.  My sons will not be the paralyzed men with their jaws wide open, eyes rolling backwards in their heads and drool slobbering down their jowls.   Instead, I like to hope that they will be progressive and respectful.

So today, I am showing up at the Kindergarten Mother’s Day Breakfast primly and properly dressed as an appropriate mamagirl. My skirt reaches to my knee. And like my own mamagirl always told me, a true lady always matches her shoes to her belt to her purse. So voila, here I am, scrubbed head to toe in propriety.  Happy Mamagirl's Day to all!!

Elie Tahari, blue Hudson napa platform sandal
Hermes blue belt
Sequoia, "jeans" leather tote

REBEL YELL

Feeling really rebellious and young today....should I put them in my electronic cart and check out?   If I do, think I need to pull out my Kings Road tartan mini kilts from the attic and pick up chain smoking again.  And pierce my nipples too. 

Dr Martens, Joahari 12 Eye Zip Boot, black palatino

THE PURPLE PARTY

Today, I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off. A large part of my job is event planning, and while I love the creative nature of it, it can often be hectic with lots of last minute fires to extinguish. Since yesterday, I’ve been working on a ladies birthday luncheon for a client – a purple party – that is taking place this afternoon. The theme conceived itself with exquisite May purple sweet pea and lilac floral arrangements. Using purple as a springboard, I purchased diminutive, exquisite mother of pearl and tortoiseshell compact mirrors and wrapped them in precious shagreen patterned boxes tied with a purple satin ribbon. Proper ladies love to have petite compacts so that they can check their flawlessly – or not so flawlessly – applied lipstick. Next came the seating cards made from bespoke purple stationary cards cut into perfect, stylized hearts. I whipped out my calligraphy pen and started to dip the quill into the snowy white ink to execute impeccable 18th century style Copperplate calligraphy. As I left the office last night, I was quite pleased with my pretty purple party so far. I was in good shape. Everything looked pristine. And pretty. And purple.

Until this morning. When I realized that I forgot all about a fucking birthday cake. You kinda need a fucking birthday cake for a birthday party. I called all the amazing bakeries in my rolodex but nobody had a plain, simple fucking birthday cake within the next two hours that I needed it. I really should stash sneakers under my desk for mornings like this, but I didn’t have any. Instead, I had my pretty Bordeaux purple Manolo Mary Janes on and I dashed out the door knowing that I’d probably run off the little rubber heel protector as I ran through the streets looking for a fucking birthday cake. I dashed into Magnolia Bakery and what do you think I saw? A pristine, perfect, purple cake. I SHIT YOU NOT. You see, some days, things fall magically into place and you can have your cake and eat it too. And not trash your Manolo’s in the process of putting out a fire.

Manolo Blahnik, Bordeaux suede Mary Janes pumps