Recessionistas, Charge It!

It's that time of year when retailers take advantage of holiday consumerism. This year in particular, sellers are out in full force, with even deeper discounts to lure the plastic out of our wallets. Note the dearth of sample sales here in NYC- pages and pages- detailed on sites such as DailyCandy.com and TopButton.com, and New York Magazine's Sales & Bargains list. LSL has been on a self-inflicted spending moratorium which thankfully ended last month. To celebrate, my shopping BFF and I will be hitting multiple targets and expect huge collateral losses to our savings. Here's how we're taking advantage of the flailing economy- call us recessionistas or shopportunists or any of the other catchy colloquialisms coined of late. Since Queen Eliza RSVP'd no for the holiday soiree, we'll forgo the Baccarat and luxury French linen sales. Instead, we stalked Catharine Malandrino's biannual sample sale; this year the selection was much improved from the previous season (bad weather is the bargain hunter's sunny day). There was much swag to snag, including pants with pintuck detailing for $65 and dresses for $150, which is more than 75% off retail. They even carried size 0 petite bottoms- along with the stretch cotton and knit dresses, I was in fit heaven. As further enticement, there was an additional reduction in prices on the second day of the event. In the fashion district, I scored belts- skinny, wide, leather, elastic- from such designers as Badgley Micshka and Via Spiga for $5-13! TSE offers its fine cashmere at up to 80% off retail price during its annual fall (usually beginning of December) sample sale. This year I struck gold at penny prices- a sequin lined black cardigan and skirt set for Mom, a $45 sweater for myself, warm weather accessories and men's sweaters. Granted not everything fits on site, but nothing yet has stumped my Upper East Side Genius Tailor (for a not so small fee). So yes, Santa, I have been a good girl by infusing much needed funds into the flailing economy- please drop off the Chanel booties in the Bergdorf window in my stocking this year.

California Dreaming

I recently returned from a trip home to sunny Southern California and experienced a bit of a climate shock. It was 90 degrees in the middle of November. It called to mind an old adage- the only seasons in California are on television. While not everyone in SoCal cruises around town in their convertibles and bikinis as the short-lived series The OC would have the rest of America believe, the fashion de rigeur is dominated by t-shirts, short hemlines, and platform sandals (many of the rubbery nature) almost year round. So upon landing back in NYC, I was greeted with a shock of windchill that reminded me it is indeed almost winter. I must admit, at that moment, I missed the carefree California lifestyle- imagine leaving the house in the middle of winter and not have to spend 2 hours piling on sweaters, thermals, scarves, hats, and winter coats only to realize your bladder's refilled in the interim. On the other hand, when would I have the opportunity to strut around in all those fabulous winter coats, cashmere scarves and knee high Jimmy Choo boots? And fur would be an oxymoron in the semiarid California landscape. Plus, no one notices if your skin is a little more furry or your toesnails are chipped.

In my view, the perfect balance would be a bicoastal existence- that, or you can defiantly wear a bikini under all those woolly layers. For those lucky enough to nest on both sides of the country, here are some wardrobe suggestions to blend in with the natives.

East

West

Lost But Not Found

On the eve of my #@! birthday, I did something which only reaffirmed that my mind is rolling ever closer to its expiration date. I lost something. Truth be told, I have been losing track of my belongings for some time, since Madonna was happily married- to Sean Penn. Of all my misplaced items, the one thing I miss most was a Missoni scarf. It was a consignment store find, a mint condition piece at a "pinch me" price. The colors were of signature Missoni vibrance, and the thin silk knit an uncommon material for the famed fashion house. I never failed to attract admiring looks and comments whenever I wore it. If you've ever worn anything that made you feel as if Kate Moss should move over on the cover of Vogue, you'll know what I mean. I returned to the restaurant in which I last had it in my possession multiple times to no avail. Losing that scarf spawned in me a Missoni obsession. Since then, I have been on a constant search for a facsimile that would soften the sting of my loss. So here are the latest fruits of my search for those distinctive patterned knits that are oft imitated but never matched.

Still, whenever I'm cruising the sidewalks of New York, I find my eyes lingering on every colorful scarf I pass, wondering if it could be THE ONE. As my boxing trainer will attest, pity to the lucky and opportunitstic soul who found and kept my little treasure. BTW, I apologize for the long hibernation since my last post. LSL promises to share her silly passions in more frequent and regular bytes.

The Call of the Wild

As the gloomy weather heralds in the chilly seasons, I am reluctantly putting my sandals into hibernation and turning my thoughts to that cold weather staple, the winter coat. At the risk of inciting the fury of the PETA bloggers of the world, I must admit to a recently acquired obsession- fur. It's a great irony that we women spend a small fortune on depilatory devices and spa services only to then cover ourselves in another mammal's hairy hide. Nevertheless, last season, I heard about a steeply discounted fur sample sale in midtown, and grabbed V (aka my budget conscience) for a look see. As we neared the warehouse, we heard a small din of protesters. The sight of anti-fur activists stopped me in my tracks. Visions of pig's blood being poured on me a la Carrie at the prom replaced my previous fantasies of stepping out in chinchilla flair. Although V was willing to brave the antagonistic crowd, my enthusiasm was quenched by a unexpected streak of cowardice, and we retreated from enemy lines. As I sat on the train to head home that day, I became increasingly upset with myself and the protesters. Is it really unnatural to wear the spoils of creatures we have conquered? Is it really more natural to forsake what nature in fact designed and perfected, and instead produce synthetic materials that will decompose generations down the line? Would "animal activists" oppose to native tribes making clothes from the hides of animals they hunted, or eskimos keeping warm with fur coats? If you watch enough National Geographic documentaries, you know what will happen to the grazing animal being stalked. These scenes recall a basic law of nature- kill or be killed, and to the victor go the spoils. This year, I will live up to my birth sign, that of the tiger, the huntress. So, without further ado, here are some of the fab furry finds on my wish list. Contemporary designers have done away with the amorphous, stodgy capes of Doctor Zhivago and cavemen lore. Now fashionastas can choose from young, sexy silhouettes and edgy mixes with leather and silk.

Falling Flat of Expectations

Today I must confess a bit of stiletto blasphemy- for the past year, I have been on a quest for the perfect pair of flat shoes. Not for any practical reason as comfort, but out of one very painful fact. Hate to air my dirty laundry, but I am afflicted with a foot defect. No, they're not webbed, just bunioned. I refuse to accept the blame- really, how much damage can one inch-wide pointy toeboxes and 4 inch heels do? After all, a bunion is an arthritic joint, mine came courtesy of my mother's pedigree. It's in our genes, and I don't mean the True Religion variety. And, contrary to popular belief, the search has not been sensible. I started with a $750 strappy ballet slippers from Christian Louboutin. At the risk of provoking Monsieur Louboutin's wrath, the weaved strings fell apart after one short walk in the rain. The ankle straps may have lent an authentic dancer's air, but they took more time to tie than painting mascara on my nonexistent lashes. One last complaint- unless your feet have no arch, a too flat sole is as unnatural as an exagerrated one. Next came a simple pair of vanilla colored Miu Miu's, but the short toebox made me feel like I was getting a Chinese foot binding. I then decided to stop hemorrhaging my wallet and working-class it with a slightly too golden pair of Aerosoles. Turns out I'm not completely snobby for patronizing the bourgeois designers. Finally, as with missing keys, I found what I was looking for in the last place I looked. A quilted red pair of patent London Soles that would make even Dorothy proud. Alright, they're a bit "Upper East Side lady who lunches for a living," but they're soft, roomy, and a little Chanel.
Still, I stand in defense of my elevator shoes without which I could never reach the top market shelves. Case in point, I tripped on some steps today- in my flats.

New York's Fashion Week has come and gone and once again, we are forced to think of our Spring wardrobes as the weather takes a turn towards colder climes. Well, as your incentive for tuning in, LSL has done the arduous task of editing the walk-in closet sized Designer collections to a "best of" list. And unlike the rag mags, no over the top, outrageous, "would never walk the streets in that" duds.

Can I look this graceful and regal at her age, please?

Put on the glam with R&R's ultra sexy rock star styles.

Monique Lhuillier gives single girls more reasons to thank her for moving on from wedding gowns.
Yellow- j'adore- 'nough said.
I've held a long love affair with all things old- this isn't just a dress, it's a 1930s Ginger Rogers & Fred Astaire movie.

To Bling or Not to Bling

While showing a buddy of mine my most recently acquired foot pedestals in sparkly gold lace and crystals, I was asked why all my shoes have more flash and drama than the Vegas strip. In my best DeNiro, I replied "you talkin' to me?", flabbergasted that anyone of even passing acquaintance would barely have realized that trait about me. "Excuse me, sir" said I, but have you not noticed every other one of the other stilleto babies I have adopted? What would be the point in spending $600-$1000 on plain, boring librarian pumps that look like they could have been rescued from a Payless rack? Everybody has there something- some travel, some entertain, some are restaurant connoisseurs. So, please, don't begrudge me my indulgence in fantastically blinged out footwear with their equally fantastically blinged out price tags. One cannot price the feeling of confidence, sexiness, and celebrity I get when men and women alike stop in their tracks to admire aloud the stilts on which I balance. I fancy that's what standing on the gold medal stand feels like. Well, let the champion athletes "go to Disneyland"- I go to Jimmy Choo.

Here are some prospective members of the growing LSL family:
Walk in looking demure, but leave a lasting impression walking out with a sexy backline and these well-heeled Guiseppe Zanottis and the Zac Posen Neptune Silk Dress .

"Fall" in Love With the New Season

A quick message to share one of my fall obsessions- architectural style. Dramatic, couture-like folds and voluminous ruffles are all over the runways, but the master of the technique in my mind is Roland Mouret.

Clothes Encounters of the Miniature Kind

In case I haven't revealed this self fact, I, like my mother, hail from the land of the Lollipop Guild (if you don't catch the reference, Netflix the Judy Garland version of Wizard of Oz). Of course, my mother insists I was stunted by my suboptimal consumption of milk as a child- who knew dairy is a growth hormone? Nevertheless, my diminiutive state has a few perks- case in point, size 6-7 boys t-shirts come in nifty Lego colors for one fourth the price of their grownup counterparts. But, I also have to spend a small fortune for nips and tucks of the tailoring kind. Granted, the true stylists will proffer that custom fitting is an absolute requirement for a "pulled together" look. My oversized finds meet their salvation at an Upper East Side shop by the name of Genius Tailor (couldn't make that up). It's the love child of a quirky Turk whom I simply call "Genius". I have yet to stump him- cashmere, lycra, leather belts, elastic belts, stretch knits. His custom suits and coats look like they were born in an Italian fashion house. That said, he does not come cheap.

And then, every once in a blue moon (read: roughly one in every one hundred real/virtual shopping trips), I find a designer who is a size double zero kindred spirit. Okay, so people such as ourselves do not receive much sympathy, but it's as difficult for us to find properly proportioned clothes as it is for the plus size ladies. So without further ado, for all the Mini Me's out there, here are some designers, aside from The Children's Place,you can rely on to build your wardrobe. Vanessa de Milo, a new designer, is being showcased at Searle with a collection of elegant cocktail dresses- apparently her size 6 is the fit model equivalent of a size 2. I swooned for the pictured LBD- corset bodice juxtaposed with soft draping.

Pieces commissioned by the Searle company also tend to run small. Rachel Pally's dance inspired stretch cotton dresses (found online on Shopbop, Couture Candy, company website) drape so intuitively that bodies of all lengths and proportions are flattered. Body conscious Missoni stretch knits, like other Italian and French labels, are cut for slimmer figures. Finally, the focus of my fashion passion, the key to Cinderella's happily ever after... shoes! Rene Caovilla's extravagantly bejeweled hand made Venetian masterpieces, along with the creations of my betrothed, Jimmy Choo, fit my size 5.5's from all angles. Christian Louboutin, Manolo Blahnik, and Kate Spade cater to the narrow footed. However, forget about Prada, Gucci and Dolce and Gabbana- no one in the company apparently has less than size 7 feet.

A Better Looking Use of the Bandage

Although New Yorkers tend to surrender the city to tourists in Birkenstocks and Bermuda shorts in the hot and sticky summer, those who are city bound try to keep entertained by throwing fabulous parties. Last weekend, I was invited to one such shindig at a spacious Soho loft. Of course, an event is always legitimate justification for new designer duds. After all, I had to represent the LittleShoeLady brand- and t-shirt and jeans would not be the ideal billboard outfit. I found THE DRESS at the Soho outpost of Intermix, repository of all things feminine and of the moment. It is one of those iconic designs that celebrates the curves of the female form- the Herve Leger Bandage Dress. The name says it all- a spandex version of the mummy wrap. It is currently undergoing a revival and it seems you can't open a celebrity rag without seeing some model or actress sporting one of its many incarnations. Where to buy- Intermix, as well as its website, Net-a-porter, and of course, the eponymous meatpacking district boutique. I chose the bright purple version for its eyepopping color, and allright, the fact that it was 60% off original price. Word to the wise: if you plan to chew on more than the ice in your cocktail, keep yourself sleek with a Spanx (the modern world's equivalent of the whale bone corset). In a room of chic and attractive city girls, the look is guaranteed to catch the eye of any person(s) of interest, because let's face it, you can't see intelligence and character from across the room.

Glam it up with Red Carpet sparkly sandals or play it down with more downtown heels such as these Miu Miu slingbacks.

Sex and the City- Celluloid Heaven

So it took me a few weeks after the premiere, but I finally saw the big screen quencher to my long Sex and the City dry spell. Of course, like any true SATC groupie, I came out ridiculously overdressed for a night out in a dark room where every person's attention is on the screen in front of them. Out came the first Manolos I purchased in the big city, a stone embellished masterpiece disguised as 3-1/2 inch stilletos, carefully preserved in the original, deceptively plain black and white box. I've only worn them once as I can only fight back the tears of pain for a blister short of an hour. But just as Job brokered his piece of real estate in Christian heaven by enduring years of suffering, perhaps I too am earning my way to the endless walk-in closet in the sky. My favorite moment was, what else, when Carrie opens the (double) doors to the closet that Mr. Big built for her. A collective orgasmic gasp slipped from the mouths of every woman (and let's face it, some anatomically male New Yorkers). Its glowing beauty choked me up far beyond my first viewing of the Mona Lisa at the Louvre or the corniest holiday Hallmark commercial.

All this brought back memories of my very own SATC moment. Confess, what woman has not casted her own group of friends as one of the main characters in the event HBO decided to produce the reality version of the show. Anyhow, I was leaving work, teetering my way to the F train in an Italian wood heeled piece acquired from Chuckies on the Upper East Side (by the way, they carry less published but very edgy European labels). At the corner of 63rd and 3rd Ave., a gentleman approached me and effusively lauded me on my fashionable footwear and obvious sense of style. He then offered to take me shopping for even more shoes. For just a flash, I contemplated taking him up on his offer. What if this was my cosmic reward for years of shuffling in Payless shoes? Although he looked to be a Wall Street type, well heeled in a tailored suit and carrying a rich dark leather briefcase, his level of enthusiasm was a foot ( clever pun intended) over this side of normal- here was a man with a fetish. So I hesitantly declined. Of course, to invoke Newton's third law of motion, "Every action has an equal and opposite reaction." So, as a balance to this moment of feminine glory, I offer a series of unfortunate events. While I was creating my profile for this www page of superficial rants, I decided it to share a picture of the "Will work for shoes" t-shirt (see bio). I had my buddy take a picture, sans identifying features, which I then attempted to post. For some some reason, there was a glitch. So, I cashed in on one of my lifelines and phoned a friend for help- the initimable V. I attached the file to email and awaited a reply. She wrote back with the solution- my buddy, who is relatively technology challenged, had taken a video snippet instead of a still photo. As requested, he did leave out identifying headshots, but inadvertently included a below the equator shot of my red, black polka-dotted underthings. And thus, I came an upload error short of exposing myself to my online readers, who for now are only composed of friends and family. Mr. Newton's laws continue to govern in the modern world.

Some last words: this time of year does not offer a real dearth of sample sales, but here are a few that are worth checking out, an edited list from my multiple shopping tip sites:

LaRok sample sale - very rock'n roll sexy, form conscious
8/5/2008-8/7/2008
Tue 8am-8pm Wed-Thu 10am-8pm
145 West 18th St (btwn 6th & 7th Aves.)New York, NY 10011
(212) 388-0339

Armani Exchange- Urban Outfitters with a slightly larger bank account, metal and glitter heavy
8/9/2008
Sat 9:30am-3pm While supplies last
125 Enterprise Ave. SouthSecaucus, NJ 07094
(201) 348-3343
Cash only

ABS - Designer knockoff dresses and gowns up to 75% off retail + Designer denims
8/6/2008- 8/10/2008
Wed-Sun 11am-7pm
129 Prince St.(btwn Wooster & W. Broadway) New York, NY

Red Carpet Manolos

Below is the photo of my last big find, or as my fearless shopping companion V calls them, the "Red Carpet" shoes. What's more, they were 50% off the original price. Okay, so that's 50% off of $1000, but this is wearable art. Can you really price a Gaugin or Van Gogh? By the way, this little treasure was excavated from the racks of Barney's the second week of July, which is when they typically make their final markdown for spring lines (shopping tip #1!). Barney's tip #2- you'll find a better selection and items are in better condition at the main store on the last week of the season sales, than at the warehouse sale, with the exception of men's clothing. However, my most pilgrimaged house of worship is on 57th and Fifth Ave- that's Bergdorf Goodman if you have to ask (and if you did have to ask, you're meditating on the wrong blog). I can't bring myself to reveal the best time to save your dime at BG's yet, for fear of competition from the other 3 million female competitors in NYC. Women at shoe sales are a true Darwinian experience- only the fittest survive.

Back to my story- I call V my shopping companion and not partner, as she has the most admirable sense of retail self control. Picture us at the Jimmy Choo boutique: Abigail, the most infectious shoe-natic sales rep, fast at work charging up my plastic passport to consumerism, turns to V and asks if she can show her something. V stoically sits with her hands in her lap and replies simply, "No, I have to go [home] this year"- apparently, 600 hundred dollar shoes are not in that budget. V buys her shoes for 15 dollars and has not once bought a garment nor shoe on any of our outings. I, on the other hand, will eat Cup O'Noodles for 2 months for the perfect pair of Jimmy Choo strappy sandals. Actually, before I was more financially endowed, I really did live off dried fried noodles, peanut M&Ms and Doritos for fashion. What's the old saying about sacrificing for one's art? I believe every female pride (that's a National Geographic reference) has someone like V to balance the irrational spenders such as myself. She's the yin to my yang in the shopping universe.