Moving On

There is nothing like ending a dysfunctional relationship to really help you put your life in perspective and to focus on the things that really matter, like amazing girlfriends and beautiful shoes. I've spent the last couple of days reconnecting with all of my favorite people, from my closest friends to my support team, including my stylist, my makeup artist, and Fabien, the fabulously helpful guy in the shoe department at Barneys. Oh, and I've also been seeing Donato, my talented trainer, but now we work out rather than dishing over pasta. Yesterday, during one of our bimonthly workouts, I almost broke a sweat while trying to decide whether or not to commit to a lunge, but fortunately I was saved by the fact that my new Louboutins looked so much better with my legs in a vertical position. Whew! I have been so disciplined, what with all the working out and deep thinking and everything, that I feel like I really deserve to treat myself to something special. I think I will buy a new bag, or twelve, to keep my shoes company! If I really focus, I can probably find at least 5 or 6 Loulou-worthy bags in a single day of shopping. It's good to have goals!

Sole Searching and the Single Loulou

Bruce and I have been over for nearly 12 hours now, and I've decided this is a good time to do some sole-searching. Sole-searching, in case you are not familiar with the concept, is the process of investing some serious time (and, of course, money) into finding the pair of shoes that most expresses who you really are, on the inside. Even though my last drought was substantial (I was without a boyfriend for nearly 4 days pre-Bruce), I never took the time to do the things that really matter to me. Instead, I wasted my precious free time with Donato, my yummy Italian personal trainer, opening up to him about life as a single girl in the city. Usually this was done over a plate of pasta, which led to an unfortunate weight gain of nearly half a pound.

Anyway, this time I plan to make the most of my single status, and the freedom that comes with it, by doing something really meaningful with my time - shoe shopping. I've found a few pairs of shoes that really, truly speak to me. The next step is to buy them all, and live with them for a little while, seeing how they get along with my life and my wardrobe, before making a full commitment and dubbing the winning pair my sole-mates. And since, if the past is any indication, I have anywhere from 2-3 days of single-ness left, I have plenty of time to tackle such a monumental task. So I won't keep you waiting much longer. Here is a list (in no particular order) of the cutest shoes ever made, by any label, ever, and exactly what I love about each pair:

1. Christian Louboutin Gressimo Gingham Knot Pump, $875: Not only are these adorable gingham platforms fresh and fun, they are the perfect pair to pick for your next picnic. In Paris.

2. Christan Louboutin Lady Peep Slingback Pump, $895: These shoes are not only patent leather, one of my favorite things ever, but they also feature several beautiful colors at the same time! So ingenious, and so versatile, which makes them a real steal when you stop to think about it!

3. Nina Ricci Floral Maryjane Pump, $1295: These shoes are so pretty and romantic, they make me want to find another boyfriend just so I can properly debut them. 

4. Christian Louboutin Studio 120 Peep Toe Pumps, $1895: These studded cream peep-toes are so pretty, they almost make me want to plan another premature wedding to an undeserving boyfriend who never lived up to his potential. Sniff. But since I am single, I think I will wear them out to dinner with the girls. At least then I will have an appreciative audience!

5. Alexander McQueen Leather Lace Pump, $935: Like every socially-minded fashionista, I immediately bought up every last Alexander McQueen item I could find upon the tragic news of his passing. He was a legend, and these stunning shoes are just one of many, many reasons why.

6. Fendi Deco Suede Pumps, $725: I am not usually a suede fan because, let's face it, it's usually dull. Not shiny or sparkly at all. But these fuchsia pumps are different. I love them because the color is so gorgeous, and the style is so feminine. And I firmly believe it's important to rotate your fuchsia pumps so that you aren't wearing the same 23 pairs all the time. It's such a lovely, versatile color.

7. Manolo Blahnik Sequined Pascalare Over the Knee Boot, $1550: I usually don't go for Manolos, as I don't find 3-inches to be an acceptable heel height. If you are going to go that low, you might as well wear flats! But these glittery, mile-long black boots teeter on a perfectly respectable 4-inch heel, and, aside from looking fabulous, do the very practical job of keeping your legs warm in the winter. Genius!

8. Miu Miu Bow Front Maryjane, $595: Yes, these are inexpensive, but don't worry. I promise to make it up to you elsewhere on this list, and, in my opinion, Miu Miu shoes are wildly underrated. I love them because they are feminine and funky. These shoes are so pretty, they are like little French macaroons for your feet. Even though they were made in Italy.

9. Fendi Tasseled Pump, $860: If I ever (God forbid!) found myself appearing in front of someone scary, like a judge or a tax accountant, I would want to be wearing these shoes. The menswear-inspired style  means that they will definitely take you seriously, because you will look so smart, and the height will give you a little extra confidence. Too bad they only come in green or brown, two of my least favorite colors!

10. Miu Miu Patent Leather Peep Toes, $670: Only Miu Miu could make humdrum colors like nude and camel seem so girly and exciting. Wear these when you want to be taken seriously, like the first time in a brand-new boutique or for an audition. The perforated trim will make you look so professional!

Bye Bye Brucie

Today was a tragic day. After just over two weeks of dating, I decided to end my relationship with Bruce. Usually, when I end a relationship, I like to make sure that there is some drama involved, like in the movies. This usually includes frequent outbursts of emotion, door slamming, tossing my hair, storming off, and crying. (Hint: Make sure your makeup is waterproof before shedding a tear. After all, you don’t want to spoil his final image of you. The least you can do, since you are breaking his heart and ruining his life, is to leave him with a pretty parting shot.) But this time, I realized that the demise of the relationship wasn’t entirely Bruce’s fault. After all, he couldn’t help his faulty nose. Maybe it’s genetic, or maybe he has some serious, scent-stealing sickness. Or maybe his mother’s indiscreet use of fragrance ruined him for life. Whatever the reason, I needed to break it to him gently. I knew he would be heartbroken, so, hoping to avoid a scene, I decided to pick a bustling spot for the breakup: the Sephora in Times Square. This would accomplish two things at once: allow me to end the relationship in a very public place, and give me a chance to stock up on bubble bath. (The trials of this relationship led me to indulge in as many as 9 baths a day, nearly wiping out my supply of bath bubbles and beads). And then, the worst happened. Bruce turned up in the orange shirt, leading me to two conclusions: 1. His wardrobe was entirely too small. How many times could a guy wear a single shirt in a two-week period, anyway? 2. He was intentionally trying to annoy me. Hadn’t he noticed the not-so-subtle cues I gave him whenever he wore it? For instance, I would sit a good 1-2 inches farther away from him, and hold his hand only loosely when we walked down the street. The shirt really set me off. I launched into a litany of complaints, ranging from the way the shade turned his skin green to the too-shiny finish of the fabric. Then, I told him that all of the conflict over the scent had really worn me down, and made me realize that we were inherently incompatible. (This is a shorter version of my actual tirade, which lasted about 73 minutes). Finally, I decided to let Bruce speak. After a few moments of stunned silence, during which I braced myself at Bruce’s certain breakdown, he took a deep breath, and then he really floored me. He informed me that he didn’t realize that we were actually dating, and therefore, was shocked by such a stormy breakup! Stunned, I remained silent for nearly 12 long seconds, before I let him have it. Not dating!! What could two weeks of occasional phone calls and dinners and holding hands mean, if not that we were boyfriend and girlfriend? And to think that I was going to let him put his arm around me at the opera as early as our four-week anniversary! I tossed my hair, stormed out of Sephora, and vainly attempted to slam the swinging door behind me on my way out.

The Slumber Party Edict

Sadly, the slumber party went exactly the way I planned it to. My loyal legion of girlfriends turned up with pajamas and pampering potions, and we settled in for a night of girl talk. It didn’t take long for the subject to turn to my dilemma with Bruce, and the deep philosophical questions it raised. Was Bruce shutting me out, making him unable to smell my signature scent? Should I change who I am (as embodied so fragrantly in Eau de Loulou) for a man with a hideous orange shirt? At what point does a girl begin to lose her identity? Why do so many women wear perfumes named after other women, like Celine and J. Lo? And which female celebrity would be next: Lil’ Kim? Barbara Walters? We swayed and swooned over the scent of Lovely and rejoiced in the demise of unisex scents. All of this talk led to one thing: I would have to end my relationship with Bruce. Clearly, I had no alternative. This subject is too important to casually dismiss. Normally, I am very open-minded when it comes to men. For example, I don’t care whether a guy’s wealth comes from a successful, high profile career or a successful, high profile family. I don’t care if his hair is light or dark, as long as it’s gorgeous. I don’t care if he prefers Gucci or Prada, as long as he avoids Versace. And he can listen to any music he wants, as long as I like it. But he cannot be immune to the charms of my signature scent…

Seeking Professional Help

Bruce and I are close to hitting the two week mark, a milestone in any relationship, so before we take it any further, I need to answer the burning questions: Why can’t he smell me? Is his profile a little too perfect? And what’s the story behind that hideous orange shirt? We spent all day trying to figure out what was wrong with Bruce’s sense of smell. We began with my favorite hypnotherapist, Hans, who suspected that an early childhood trauma led to some form of olfactory overload, and his sense of smell had just shut down. Olfactory overload? Of course! After all, didn’t his mother, an aging actress who will remain nameless, regularly submerge herself in Eau de Old Lady? Sadly, after 2 hours of hypnosis, Hans was unable to undo the damage. Next was an aromatherapist, who pulled out the strongest essential oils in her arsenal to stimulate Bruce’s senses, and again, nothing worked. Bruce claimed he could smell the potent oils, but I think he was in denial. Still, the trip wasn’t a total waste, because Olga mixed up a batch of essential oils that are supposed to sharpen your sense of style. As my good deed for the week, I will sashay around town, secretly spilling some of the style potion on every fashion “don’t” I see. It’s my way of making the world a prettier place. Undaunted, I pressed on, dragging Bruce behind me. We went to the office of Camille, a French woman who practices some ancient form of French holistic medicine. She said that Bruce’s chakras were blocked, and after some acupuncture and ayurveda, pronounced him healed. But alas, nothing had changed, and I had a feeling that Camille was a little clueless. I consider myself an authority on the French language, because I read so many perfume bottles and my entire skincare routine is from a French company, and I know that words like “chakra” and “ayurveda” are not French at all. Obviously, they’re Russian. Anyway, we ended up at the office of my daddy’s friend, Dr. Walt, who specializes in ears, noses, and throats. (Dr. Walt is credited with helping Whitney regain her voice after those unfortunate shouting incidences on her husband’s reality show). Anyway, one quick check-up and Dr. Walt assured me that, much to my dismay, nothing was wrong with Bruce’s nose. Clearly, he was mistaken, but Dr. Walt stood behind the seventeen tests he had run. (I tried to convince him that feminine intuition was much more accurate than any test he could run, but he remained unmoved. I’ll have to tell Daddy not to recommend him so highly in the future). So, one long, dreary day has passed, and we are no closer to solving our relationship dilemma. As it is too late to shop, there is only one thing that could make me feel better: a slumber party…

Bruce or Barneys?

Yesterday, I spent the entire day doing some intensive research at the perfume counter at Barneys. My friend and favorite fragrance expert, Bruno, assisted me as I sniffed and sprayed my way through hundreds of scents, trying to find the one fragrance that could capture my essence like Eau de Loulou, but alas, there was no substitute. I was so dejected, I didn’t even have the heart to shop. I just grabbed a few essentials on my way out the door: 3 pairs of shoes, the collection of new lipstick shades from Armani, half a dozen eyeshadows, and the cutest straw bag with a patent leather handle. Once home, I started to wonder whether Bruce was worth all of the heartache. I have never wasted a perfectly good morning of shopping because of a guy before. Where were my priorities? I decided to make a list of Bruce’s good and bad qualities.

Things I Love About Bruce
• Perfect profile (have I mentioned his fabulous nose)
• Very intelligent
• Great taste (he picked me, after all)
Things I Don’t Love About Bruce
• He can’t smell
• I suspect that he may be a bit shallow.
• When we go to charity events, he doesn’t seem to care about starving supermodels or fledgling fashion designers all that much.
• His orange shirt

A Break from Bruce

After a night of tossing and turning and an entire day of staying inside, shunning my public and hiding my sleep-deprived pallor, I finally hit upon a solution. Normally, I do my best thinking at Barneys or Bergdorf’s, but tonight, I was steeping in a bubble bath, avoiding Bruce’s phone calls, when it hit me. Perhaps Bruce and I weren’t incompatible after all. Maybe, he was sick, and his nose didn’t work properly. He could have a cold or allergies or something! I immediately jumped out of the bathtub, put on a cute ensemble, and called Bruce back. When I suggested that he might need to seek some professional help, he laughed in the way that he has that always used to make me melt. Only this time, it made me mad. Clearly, he wasn’t taking this seriously. I calmly explained that the future of our relationship depended on getting to the bottom of the problem with his very attractive but otherwise defective nose. I told him that we needed some time apart. Reluctantly, he agreed, and promised not to call me until the same time tomorrow night. (I know it seems pretty extreme to deprive Bruce of my presence for a whole 24 hours, but he needs to understand how serious the situation is). After I hung up, I was crushed, because it seemed I had oversimplified what appeared to be a much bigger problem. Tomorrow, I needed to tackle this problem from a different perspective. Maybe Barneys, and not the bathtub…

A Chink in the Armor

Last night, my boyfriend Bruce* and I were slow-dancing at a charity ball. I was in such a great mood, because I love good causes, and what’s more important than saving struggling fashion models? Plus, I was with Bruce, who is so smart, he must be a genius or something. He has two careers. He started out as a model and now he’s also an actor. Last week, he even had a walk-on role on The Bold and The Beautiful! Anyway, we were dancing when Bruce casually asked me why I wasn’t wearing perfume. At first I laughed, certain he was joking. I have never been known to leave the house without my top-secret, custom-couture signature scent, Eau de Loulou, which was blended for me by Serge, a master “nose” in Paris. But Bruce wasn’t joking. The Eau de Loulou was lost on him. Clearly, something is wrong with his sense of smell, because Serge and I spent nearly two years perfecting Eau de Loulou’s strong-yet-subtle-yet-sophisticated-yet-sweet blend of over 732 exotic essences. How can a good-looking nose like Bruce’s not detect my signature scent? (Bruce’s nose is so chiseled that he was actually voted “Best Nose” at his modeling agency.) To look at it, you’d have no idea it was so seriously flawed. Clearly, I had a dilemma. Were my beautiful boyfriend Bruce and my signature scent, Eau de Loulou, a fragrance which captures my very essence, inherently incompatible? What does this say about our future? And how was it possible that I had made it this far in our relationship (we’ve been dating nearly 9 days) so blind to Bruce’s faults? I need to solve this problem soon. My skin is suffering…

*Some names have been changed to protect the famous.