Posts Tagged ‘shoes’
On the second day of Christmas, I dropped my iPhone while getting out of the car, and cracked the screen.
On the third day of Christmas, I scorched my favourite skirt while trying to iron it.
On the fourth day of Christmas, I backed my car out of a parking space and into another car: no one hurt, and just a scratch to the other car, although there is a bit of damage to mine. The financial damage, on the other hand… well, let’s all just keep out fingers and toes crossed that it’s not too bad.
I have spent the last 12 hours or so repeating, “At least no one was hurt, at least no one was hurt.”
I’m pretty much DONE with the days of Christmas, now, to be honest, but I’m thinking that if these things come in threes, that’s me used up all of my bad luck now, surely. Surely.
The fourth day of Christmas also brought these, courtesy of Sarenza.co.uk, whose Brand Ambassador programme I’m a part of:
Hopefully my luck is on the turn…
DRESSEMBER, DAY, 11
Dress, Stop Staring; Shoes, Office, c/o. Idealo.co.uk
Yesterday was the 11th anniversary of my first “date” with Terry. Of course, yesterday was also a work day, so we decided to do our celebrating on Sunday instead, with a meal at a local restaurant and an opportunity for me to be totally overdressed as usual.
If you read Shoeperwoman, you’ll already have seen this dress, and even if you don’t, it’s the one I’m wearing in my Twitter avatar, my Facebook profile, the “About the author” box on this website… basically everywhere I’ve claimed a small piece of the Internet as my own, I’ve worn this dress on it. So I guess you could call it a favourite. You could also call it “That dress my parents bought me because they got sick of standing around in a dress shop while I agonised between it and another one.” Thanks, folks! (Yes, SPOILED.)
Anyway, it doesn’t really matter that you’ve seen the dress before, because this outfit was really all about the shoes:
These are also one of my favourites, and they were also a gift, this time from Idealo.co.uk, who very kindly allowed me to run rampant on their website earlier this year, and chose some products to review. I picked these Office platforms, because although I already had eleventy-one pairs of red shoes at the time (Joking. I only had eight.) if there’s one thing I believe, it’s that you can never have too many pairs of red shoes. Or too many polka dot dresses. Or too many opportunities to wear both of them together, and pose like an idiot in them. Or… oh, you get the picture.
These are actually much more comfortable than they probably look, which is a good thing given how often I wear them. As I’m fond of repeating over at Shoeperwoman, red shoes are more or less a “neutral” for me, because they work with so much of my wardrobe. Well, except for all the green dresses, obviously: if I tried that, people would probably revert back to using my childhood nickname, “Traffic Lights”, and God knows, it took long enough to get them to stop the first time…
Oh, and just to prove that I do still have a head, even although I cropped it out of all of the other photos:
(I was doing a weird, squinty-eyed thing in all of them. In this one, I appear to be either standing on my toes (why?) or am about to levitate. Let’s pretend it’s the second option: it’ll make this post much more interesting…)
I got me some new shoes.
I’ll look a lot like Minnie Mouse in them (and, in fact, that’s their name: Minnie.) but I don’t care.
I would actually try to justify these as part of a “Minnie Mouse” Halloween Costume (even although I think her shoes were yellow?), but my friend Ewen
is a big meanie has challenged me to dress as something non-glamorous this year. This has proved a challenge indeed, not just because, as some of you know, I like to use Halloween purely as an excuse to be even more over-dressed than usual (see “Marilyn Monroe“, “Audrey Hepburn“, “Joan Holloway“, er, “Lady Gaga” but also because I hate spending money on anything that isn’t a dress or a pair of shoes, and so I was forced to try to put something together on less than £5. (Well, OK, I wasn’t “forced”: I just did it.)
All will be revealed next week: for now, I’m off to stroke my shoes some more…
[Shoes: Miss KG by Kurt Geiger 'Minnie2']
[Disclosure: these shoes were courtesy of Idealo.co.uk, but chosen by me..]
So, I was thinking. In fact, here is a photo of me thinking:
Because, yes, I totally staged a photo so I could get a picture of me thinking, with which to illustrate this post. BLOGGERS, EH?
No, I’m joking: these photos were actually taken for Shoeperwoman, as part of the Shoeper Shoe Challenge, and I’m posting them here purely because, well, I got nothing else, folks. Not a thing. I mean, I could tell you all about my exciting trip to the post office this morning, which led me past:
1. Those kitchen chairs I showed you a couple of weeks ago (because it’s all excitement on THIS blog, isn’t it? I mean, kitchen chairs, people. Where else can you get that kind of entertainment for free?) which have now been smashed into tiny pieces and distributed around the neighbourhood.
2. A woman leaving the shops wearing pyjamas, a pair of slippers and what I assumed was a dressing gown, but which Terry informs me was actually just a coat designed to look like a dressing gown. Cunning!
3. A deck of adult playing cards. The kind with nekkid ladies on them.
Um, OK, so I kind of just did tell you about my exciting trip to the post office, didn’t I? Well, it was while I was there, standing in the queue for the usual three hours (because nothing that happens in a post office ever happens quickly, does it?), that I did my thinking. You see, the queue was right next to the magazine rack, which was full of those “real life” magazines, which have headlines like “My Dog is a Spaceman!” and “Losing Weight Left Me With Seven Breasts!” (that last one is an ACTUAL headline I saw today, seriously), and I thought, “Damn, my life is dull, here with my earthbound dog and my two breasts.”
Then I thought,”This boring life of mine, it sure does make it difficult to find things to write about in that there blog. I think I’ll just post some photos and hope no one notices.”
So I did.
(Dress: Black Halo, c/0 Shopbop; Shoes: Carvela, c/o Sarenza)
Coming up next: the thrilling tale of that one time I went to the petrol station to put fuel in my car!*
*I’m joking. I haven’t had THAT much fun in AGES.
(Dress, Bettie Page; Shoes, Zara (last season, out of stock)
I’m back. And rather than get straight into the OMGDEPRESSION I feel at being back, I’m just going to go right back to the start of my trip, and systematically bore you with all of my stories and photos. Then, when I get to the end, I might just do it all over again, and in this way I will relive my holiday over and over again, right up until the next one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’m starting off with the the trip from London Heathrow to San Francisco, during which I managed to clock up the following Random Acts of Stupidity:
# of times I left my “baggie” full of liquids at security and had to run back for it, with just minutes to spare before our flight - 1
# of times something leaked inside said “baggie”, soaking the contents of my handbag – 2
# of times I threw my Kindle across the aisle of the aircraft and almost into the lap of the gentleman sitting across the aisle from me – 3
# of drinks spilled over Terry’s crotch – 1
# of times I caught my watch strap on my bag, causing it to drop off my wrist - 3
# of times this happened before even leaving Edinburgh – 3
# of times Lady Gaga disrupted the entire cabin, courtesy of an alarm on my phone which I’d forgotten to disable - 2
# of contact lenses lost during the flight – # 1 (subsequently found stuck to my knee, a dried-up husk of a thing. The contact lens, I mean. Not my knee.)
# of times I lost my Liz Earle Superbalm during the flight – about 27, culminating in it being lost for good just before we landed.
# of times I complained about this – 92
And finally, having reached San Francisco, the # of times I failed to heed the warning presented by this notice in the entrance to our hotel bathroom, and almost fell flat on my face?
In contrast, the flight back from LAX yesterday was pretty uneventful, save for two things:
1. The aircon unit that started leaking onto my head halfway across the Atlantic. Trust me, when you’re a nervous flyer, the very last thing you want as you sit there trying to get some sleep on the plane is to feel a steady drip, drip on your head, and to think, “Oh, it must be raining outside… wait… CRAP!”
2. The fact that I almost caused my family to miss our connection at Heathrow, due to the Kurt Geiger shoe sale in Terminal 5. Sorry, family. (It was a REALLY good sale, though…)
I do, of course, have many (many, many…) more stories and photos to share, but I also have laundry to do, sleep to catch up with, and a lot of whining about being back home to get through, so for now I’m just going to leave you with these random photos of my new Bettie Page Captain dress, purchased in San Francisco, and the Hollywood sign, neither of which have anything to do with this post at all. Enjoy!
(He’s got his paws up. Because he was born this way, baby.)
What you see looking out from the sign.
And what you see looking back.
(Yeah, I told you there would be a LOT of photos…)
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This morning, as I was drinking my coffee and checking my email, there came a knock upon the door. There, on the doorstep, stood a delivery man clutching a parcel.
“Another pair of shoes?” he asked, as I signed for the delivery.
And you know, it WAS another pair of shoes. And not only that, but another pair of red wedges . Houston, I think we have a problem…
How many pairs of red wedges does one woman need, I hear you ask?
“Four” is the answer you’re looking for.*
*Four is also the answer to the question “How many stripey jackets does one woman need?” funnily enough. Four: it’s the magic number!
(Oh, they’re from Schuh, by the way. Just in case any of you aren’t quite meeting your Red Wedge quota for this month.)
Remember when I said I was done with eBay, for ever and ever and ever, or at least until the next pair of shoes came up that I OMGHADTOHAVE? Yeah, that didn’t work out. I mean, I did stop trying to sell stuff on eBay, because that was just a one-way ticket to Mad Town. I kept on buying, though, and for the most part, that worked out pretty well. I got some bargains. I got some things I’d wanted to buy at the time, but which had sold out. Ebay and I, we were cool.
Then came The Shoes.
(You knew this would be about shoes, didn’t you? Sorry.)
The Shoes are deserving of the capital letters I’ve given them here, because, oh, these shoes. They were by Carvela, and I’d wanted them as soon as they came out, which was about two years ago now. I couldn’t afford them, though, so I didn’t buy them, because as you all know, I am ALL about the being sensible. Yes I am. Shut up.
Then the shoes went on sale. I still didn’t buy them, because by then they were sold out in my size. Instead, I was forced to watch helplessly as my shoe-blogging friends all bought The Shoes and flaunted them right in my very face. The Shoes were even more beautiful in real life. I was sad.
Time passed. I want to be able to write “I forgot about The Shoes,” here, but the thing is: I didn’t. No, I kept on thinking about The Shoes, and how terrible it was that I had not been able to buy them. “One day,” I told myself, “I will find The Shoes on eBay, and the seller will have spelt “Carvela” wrong, so I will get them for a totally knock-down price, and all will be well with the world.” I didn’t really believe it, though. The Shoes were gone forever, and in my heart of hearts, I knew it.
Then last week?
Last week I found The Shoes on eBay. They were brand new. My size. Starting price of £25. No bids. OMFG!
The Shoes would be mine. I knew it. Except… unbenownst to me, I had a mortal enemy. This unknown enemy of mine, she also wanted the shoes. Well, I say that: I’m pretty sure she didn’t give a damn about The Shoes. She just wanted to, like, totally RUIN MY LIFE forever, and force me to walk barefoot. Because eBay gets you like that, doesn’t it? It’s more like, I don’t know, WAR, say, than shopping. And as soon as someone starts bidding on something I want, well, there’s only one way for that to end.
I turn to The Dark Side.
I take it personally, you see, the bidding-against-me. It feels like a personal afront. Especially when the person in question is bidding on a pair of shoes that I have already decided are mine, an entire TWO DAYS BEFORE THE END OF THE AUCTION.
Seriously, who does that? Who bids before the end of the auction? Do you do it? If so: why? Don’t you see how that just pushes the price up (and up, and up, and up…) completely needlessly? Doesn’t it make sense that if all interested parties simply wait until the end of the auction and then bid their maximum, the eventual winner gets to walk away with a bargain, and no one gets goaded into paying more than they really intended to, whipped up into a frenzy by the end-of-auction excitement, and suddenly determined to win those damn shoes AT ALL COSTS?
That’s pretty much what happened, folks. I’m not proud of it. But like I said, Dark Forces were at work that night, and even although Little Miss Two-Days-Before-The-End-of-the-Auction pushed the price up to an amount I might previously have baulked at (Note: I wouldn’t really have, though. Because I did really want those shoes…), I allowed those Dark Forces to take over. “I will win these shoes, even if it costs me every last penny!” I muttered feverishly from the corner of the room, where I was rocking back and forth in an agony of anticipation, awaiting the glorious hour when the auction would end I could finally defeat all of my foes.
And I did.
No one steals shoes from under my nose and gets away from it, I’ll tell you that for nothing.
I’m not going to say the shoes were a bargain, because that would be a complete and utter lie, but they did cost much less than the original retail price, and they are brand spanking new (Yes, the Fail managed to deliver them. It took them longer than expected, obviously, but hats off to them for managing to get SOMETHING right this year. Still hate them, though.), so I’m happy.
I’m trying to avoid eBay for the foreseeable, though, or at least to avoid auctions, because they tend to turn me into a madwoman. This is why I normally only look at Buy It Now items: I absolutely hate finding something I love, and then having to wait ten days and do battle with fifteen other people in order to get it.
Amber – 1; Little Miss Two-Days-Before-The-End-of-the-Auction = nil
Amber – nil; The Dark Side: 1
Here’s a video by Terry:
(Dress, ASOS (obviously); shoes, Christian Louboutin. Worn on a Valentine’s dinner date with Terry. The shoes were the first to be rescued in my Shoe Challenge, hence the numbers at the bottom of the image…)
The Friend Friday-ing:
1. Since you started blogging has your image of yourself changed?
Since I started blogging in general, no. Since I started taking photos for my blogs, yes, I think it has, more so with the photos I take for Hey, Dollface! because as it’s a beauty blog, and the photos are done for the purpose of reviewing products, they’re normally extreme close-ups of my face, and I defy anyone to look at photos which are THAT detailed and not want to recoil a little. Trust me, it can be pretty scary. Even the photos I take for Shoeperwoman have changed my image of myself a little: I think just looking at so many photos every week has made me notice things I probably wouldn’t have otherwise!
2. Are you self-conscious about any aspect of yourself? If so, do you go out of your way to avoid it or do you post it/talk about it anyway?
Oh hell, yes, I’m self-conscious about lots of things. I’m not going to tell you what they are, though, because in answer to the second part of the question, no, I don’t talk about them. When I was younger, I did: I was the kind of person who would always point out her “flaws”, so if I had a giant spot on my forehead, say (which I often did), I’d be all, “Hi, everyone, I’m Amber: get a load of this spot! I bet you’ve never seen one as big as this before!” I kind of felt like if didn’t mention those things, people would obviously notice them anyway, and, I don’t know, it would be like they had one up on me, or something. As if they’d be thinking, “Ha! Amber has a huge spot and she doesn’t even know it!” So I would attempt to remove this “power” from them by making sure I always mentioned it first, whatever it was. Pretty stupid, no?
These days I don’t go out of my way to draw attention to the things I’m self-conscious about, particularly not on the Internet. I just don’t think there’s anything to be gained from it, and I’ve also learned the hard way that people on the Internet don’t need me to point out my flaws to them – they’re more than capable of noticing them all by themselves!
3. Based on how you are feeling now, what do you think the future holds in the evolution of your body image?
Oh, lordy, I have no idea! I think I’m a lot more comfortable about my body image now than I was when I was younger, so I’d like to think I’ll get even more comfortable with age, but who knows: once everything starts heading south, I may be singing a different tune!
4. Do you photograph yourself for your blog? If so, how do you feel about the experience when you’re having your picture taken?
Yes, I started off taking the aforementioned product review photos for Hey, Dollface, and then last year, when I started the Shoeper Shoe Challenge, I started photographing myself for that. I expect this will come as a surprise to most of the people who read my blogs, but I hate having my photo taken: I always feel really stupid and self-conscious, and this isn’t helped by the fact that I’m a “blinker” – seriously, I can take 10 photos, and in 9 of them I’ll be standing there with my eyes shut and my face all screwed up, so when I’m having my photo taken I have to do this crazy kind of “deer in the headlights” thing where I try to open my eyes as wide as possible and stare like a madwoman. It’s not fun. (Although I guess it might be quite fun to watch…)
(Sometimes I close my eyes deliberately. It’s easier that way.)
5. What would you want every person who struggles with body image to take to heart?
That we’re all our own worst critics, and that the things we’re self-conscious about are often things that are really only noticeable to ourselves. I’ve had so many conversations with female friends where they’ve mentioned something they absolutely hate about themselves, and they’re always things I’ve never even noticed about them, and I don’t think anyone else would either. I think that’s probably often the case: we’re all too busy worrying about our own body image to pick apart someone else’s. One of my favourite quotes on this subject is a really famous one from Cindy Crawford, who once told an interviewer, “Even I don’t wake up looking like Cindy Crawford…” I’ve always loved that, because I think it’s so easy to look at other people, and compare yourself unfavourably to them, but the truth is that we’re all struggling with our own set of insecurities, and no one is perfect. Not even Cindy Crawford.
Um, that was Jerry’s final thought for today. Until next time, take care of yourselves – and each other…”
(More Friend Friday answers at Modly Chic, more Friday Frocks on Facebook)
Oh, and for those of you who don’t read Shoeperwoman, a short video of my shoes, filmed by Terry. I do warn you, though, you will feel like you’ve just watched porn after viewing this…
So, my Shoe Challenge ends next Wednesday (not that I’ve been counting down the days until it’s over, you understand…), but I’ve not exactly been making it easy on myself, because despite promising myself I wouldn’t buy any more shoes this close to the end, first I bought my Barley2 boots, and then I had to go and buy these little Kurt Geiger beauties:
And yes, I do mean “had to”: I mean, I’d been coveting them for MONTHS, then Kurt Geiger went and put them on sale, and sent me a handy little email to tell me about it, and I chose to take it as a SIGN.
My hair gets more ridiculous by the day. Every week I manage to add another centimetre or two to the height: I’m hoping that by the time Christmas rolls around again, it’ll have reached Marge Simpson-style proportions, and I’ll be able to keep things in it, like lipstick, say, or maybe some small woodland animals.
I want to wear them all the time. All. The. Time. Even when I’m relaxing casually at home with gigantic hair.
This is not a dress. I just cunningly made it look like one by use of a belt. Terry still insists on calling it “a dress”, though.
Three more pairs of shoes to go, and then I’ll have “rescued” them all. Then I can start shopping again…
I go out to buy cheap trousers, I come back with Louboutins.
And this is why I’m not allowed to go shopping any more.
(In my defence, they were heavily discounted.)
(And I’ve wanted them forever.)
(And there was only one pair in the whole store, and they just so happened to be my size. That NEVER happens. When you wear one of the most common shoe sizes in the country, you NEVER find shoes in your size on sale. Never.)
Pretty sure this is how drug addicts feel.