the cut.

i have gazillion things to do and pack, but let’s quickly talk about my hair.

when i was little it was cut in a neat short bob and behaved. that didn’t last very long because i wanted to let it grow. my mum used to cut my hair and whenever it was time for a trim there was lots of fighting and screaming going on in our house. she usually gave up in sheer exhaustion and only cut off about a centimetre. woe to her the one time when it ended up being two. i put the hood of my bathrobe on and refused to take it off until my dad promised me 6 tickets for the waterpark.

when i was 13 i decided to cut my hair into a bob again and it was the most unflattering hair cut any teenager could ever have. since it was my decision my mum was happy as at least she couldn’t be blamed this time.

then there were a few failed attempts at having a fringe. no need to explain further.

so you understand that i am hesitant when it comes to cutting my hair now. i go for my trims and to lighten the load (yes, i have loads!), but it usually gets tied up anyhow and i prefer it that way. end of discussion.

yesterday i had an appointment to get my hair cut before the holiday. i have been following fashion blogger karla deras for some time and i love her hair. and while i love how it looks when it’s down, i love the fact that she can still tie it up in a little bun even more. however i didn’t consider myself ever brave enough to go there. cutting hair is traumatic to me.

but yesterday morning i woke up and i remember my mother’s words. back in the day when i was in my last year in high school, we were walking through town together and ran into my ex and his new girlfriend. the new girlfriend must have been late twenties then and had long shiny brown hair streaming down her back. my mum - and i still love her for it - just took one look at her and murmured to me: “there comes a certain age when a woman should have a haircut.” and while that was a tiny bit bitchy, i still think it quite true.

so with that in mind i woke up and decided to cut it all off.

i love it and with the amount i will save on conditioner i can go on another holiday. in case you don’t love it, don’t tell me and just remember that i am not very photogenic so i obviously look amazing and very different in real. in case you love it so much, that you want to cut all your hair off too now, i highly recommend craig at thelobby. he is awesome and he will give you beer to take the edge off.  

rocky horror bittersweet.

last time i saw the rocky horror show i was 17 and i didn’t actually see it as much as i was in it. it was my second season as an extra during my hometown’s annual festspiele, an open air theatre festival which is put on every summer in the stiftsruine. now bad hersfeld might not be terribly exciting, but i think that the remains of this old church are magical even during the rest of the year and the festival is usually something to write home about as it attracts some of the best actors and singers from all over europe. being directly involved in it all only made it better of course. i was allowed to sit at the tables at the theatre canteen that said reserved for cast, spent long hours amongst my friends practising dance scenes, snuck around the hidden nooks and pass ways in the crypt beneath stage, and like any 17 year old with an odd affinity for men in speedos, i developed a mad crush on the actor who played rocky. true to the part his body was chiselled, his hair was as golden as his shorts, and he had the most adorable swedish accent – he only had to say the words verpiss dich! (which means as much as fuck off!) on stage and i was lost.

unfortunately i found out only in the later stages of my crush development that he was gay and in a relationship. i was sad for some time, but as it turns out not all god like creatures, who can sing and dance heavenly, are disinterested in girls and so i found myself in an at least outwardly steamy affair with frank n. furter. i say outwardly because even at that age i knew that it ain’t too hot if a guy stares more at his own reflection in the mirror than at you while you are both naked in bed. oh well, i did enjoy the attention it got me from my girlfriends and some free tickets for cats in which he starred in afterwards.

yesterday i went down memory lane as i saw the rocky horror show for the first time since at the fugard theatre. as much as i forgot most details of the story, i still knew every single word to every song and some of the moves and it felt somewhat bittersweet to be confined to my seat. if you ask me how it was i will be honest and admit that i had a hard time being objective. i saw a handsome rocky, but he didn’t smile like my rocky. i saw an alluring frank n. furter, but i wondered if he would still be alluring without all his make-up like mine was. brad was adorably dorky, but it wasn’t the same as knowing that the person behind the glasses is still adorably dorky once he gets off stage. riff raff was evil and brilliant, but nobody can ever be as evil and brilliant as the late peter heinrich to me. and obviously the background dancers had nothing on me and my friends!

i guess in the end it just made me feel a bit disconnected to observe and not participate anymore and i didn’t like that feeling. i always preferred the real behind the scenes, the being part of the something to just watching a perfect façade.  

having that said, i still think it was an amazing show and i highly recommend you go see it if you are in cape town. the newly renovated fugard theatre is beautiful and since it is around the corner from me i definitely want to see more shows there. they also offer an amazing bar service that lets you pre-order your drinks for the intermission, which people like you - as in all of you, because i don’t know any other kind of people - and me will highly appreciate.

the only real critisism i had, had nothing to do with the show, but with the audience - capetonians what is wrong with you??

where were your costumes?

your fishnets?

your wigs?

your garters?

your toiletpaper?

and men, where were your heels?

someone clearly didn't get the memo and as it was we were the only ones dressed up last night. and as my friend shaun realized – yes guys, heels hurt. but not only do they give you a new viewpoint from their staggering heights, but they can also make your bum look quite desirable at least judging by the old lady who pinched his while he was waiting at the bar.

picture perfect.

Before I even start this post I want to say – all is good. I am not complaining, I am not sad, I am not annoyed...I am just a bit exhausted from my day and I am writing to reflect why that is.

Today I got up “early” (I won't tell you what that means for me, because all of you will hate me) the second day in the row as we had a company photo shoot which got postponed from yesterday when I got up “early” the first time around. Yes, we are the people who are always behind the lens, but today it was our turn to shine for our new website. Meh.

I absolutely hate having my picture taken. When I was sixteen my brother, the professional and very awesome and talented photographer, put me in front of a big light and agreed to take my passport picture. Oh the honor and the joy! Finally a passport picture that would show my real beauty and get me upgrades and make anybody who would see it instantly fall in love with me. Or so I thought. Well lit or not, I hated the picture and told my brother as much. It was never intended as a reflection on his skill, but always about my face, so I thought he should have responded in kind. Call it an older brother phenomenon, but he only said “well, I can only be as good as the model”.

Ever since I have refused to be in front of a camera unless being fed copious amount of drinks first. Or have someone with photoshop skills on hand. Or have someone who loves me direct my chin lovingly into an angle that makes it disappear. Preferably all of the above at once.

When people tell me how photogenic I am I feel insulted. To me they just called me ugly, because if that’s how I really look like live, oh boy… Guys, I am not being self-deprecating because most days I look at myself in the mirror I am perfectly fine with the view. It is really the reflection in pictures that I don't enjoy nor do I think it is a fair representation of me.

So you can imagine how not excited I was having to wake up early, again, and have my picture taken. By the way I should add that a guy, who I was once madly in love with and who broke my heart and who himself is still to my now unloving eye utterly gorgeous, was our photographer. Now can you please feel a bit sorry for me?

But yes I managed. I honestly didn't care about the pictures too much. I was so worried about my double chin showing up that I forgot my eyes really wrinkle when I smile a lot. Fuck.

So tonight I just feel exhausted, but I don't I don't want to whine. Life is utterly good to me right now and just sitting here right now I remember a post I read thismorning. Which asked us to list things we love about ourselves. I replied and wrote: I love the reflection of my body in a Bikram class. I wear shorts that are probably too short and too tight for my body type, but I can move in them. And so I look at this body of mine that is moving and that can do things, that is breathing and that is strong and healthy. That body of mine that is dripping sweat and that face of mine that is read and that hair – let's just say it is worse than usual - but I see all of it and I do feel beautiful.

And now while I'm lying in bed I look over at my little 'wall' and there is this one picture of my friend Sam and myself. He hugs me and kisses my forehead. The whole pictures, at least me in it, is so far from perfect and I could take it apart for you, yet all I see is my smile, my friend who loves me and my beautiful Lanvin dress.

And then I remember a conversation I had a long time ago with a friend in New York who asked me if it wasn't depressing to work with beautiful models all the time. But mainly I still remember my reply: no, if I had the choice I'd always rather be the stylist than the model. At least as stylist I get to create and do and think and not just stand there and have someone dress me. - I really want to add here that I have met many amazing women over the years, models, who work hard and are beautiful and smart and funny. Why would someone not use her strong suits whether it be an affinity for science, a love for words, or a great bone structure to make a living or a career? I have also learned that it doesn't matter how beautiful someone is to the rest of the world, they can still feel like an ugly duckling on the inside - However the truth is there are makers and doers and dreamers in this world and models are usually the ones being used as a canvas to reflect these people's work. And so when it comes to this I still always rather be a maker, a doer, and a dreamer than a beautiful canvas. In my case I rather create a lasting impression with my words than with my face. Even though that face of mine is a great one.

Part Einstein, part Lion Pose. 

rain & needles.

a little happy friday to everybody. it almost didn’t become a happy one for me as i had to go to the dentist this morning. pouring rain on a friday makes me want to stay in bed as it is and a dentist appointment didn’t really entice me to get out either. i think i had enough dentist appointments in my life already, i really should be done with them.  and to make matters worse dr nico (i don’t think he has a last name. he is like bob the builder only as a dentist) came at me with a needle.

me: woah, what are you doing?

dr nico: i’m going to numb your gums.

me: why?

dr nico: so it won’t hurt so much.

me: since when does teeth cleaning hurt much?

a little misunderstanding as it turns out.  he thought fillings, i thought teeth cleaning and guess what – i won. i was really in no mood for needles, fillings, and a droopy mouth on a rainy friday morning.

on a very good note my first story for travelettes came out and you can read all about my trip with my dad to la reunion here.

i will spend the weekend writing some more and be in the hot studio as much as i can. i don’t think there is anything better to do than yoga in this weather if you are a single person and have nobody to cuddle with. except maybe drink red wine and eat toasted sandwiches, which i will be off to do now…

p.s. that's what you get when you order coffee in la reunion: 

the h word.

friday night i went for a spontaneous dinner at thekla’s house.  we ended up being a group of four girls and the night got quite fun and more than a little raunchy for an evening without tequila. banter flew back and forth and at some point thekla shouted at me (yes, we even got to a shouting point without tequila) “oh my god, you are a total hipster!”

silence. that really hurt.

whether i am a hipster on the grand scheme of things or not, living in cape town and being called a hipster wasn’t okay for me. look, i don’t mind the concept of things organic, artisan, and authentic, but the hipster breed in this city is something else altogether. so i told thekla if she wanted to call me names, she had to call me an original hipster.

when i lived in williamsburg 10 years ago everybody was already a hipster, before the term and definition had even made its way over from portland.

skinny jeans? check.

skinny artist boys in skinny jeans? check.

charm bracelets and lockets? check thanks to inheritance from my mother.

vintage something? paisley blouses from a flea market in rome, ironic mickey mouse t-shirt from avenue b, old motorcycle boots worn with mini-skirt in august.

mexican peasant skirts and leather sandals? handmade on a mexican curb side.

check, check, check, and check.

farmers’ markets with ugly organic tomatoes and homemade lemonade? every sunday.

eating “gourmet” burgers in a little hole in the wall? that’s what the east village is for, check please!

in addition i smoked gauloises at that time, which was more hipster than growing your own tobacco in new york. gladys and ipek did the knitting, marie organized stripy socks for us at her job in the sock company.  we also had julian, the cat. he was awesome and liked to sleep in the rice cooker. if i would have had my way his name would have been norbert and i don’t think you can get a more hipster name than that. we took pictures of him constantly and while people liked our cat pictures, they did refuse to eat at our place after seeing him in the rice cooker.

before lomo and instagram we had the original old school camera – the polaroid. i must admit that i have been taking selfies long before the term was coined and pictures of my shoes too. there are already many unflattering pictures of me with a protruding nose due to the awkward selfie angle, so these days i try to limit their exposure on the internet. personally i think most people’s shoes are not that exciting and only warrant a picture if they are louboutin or dangle above a volcano.

we listened to the strokes when they were the first band with a the and saw them live when they were still playing in bars. the same went for a whole lot of indie bands that by now have come and gone or landed a gig at rocking the daisies.

no offense, or take it if you must, but south africa is lacking a bit behind with certain things or gives them a let’s call it interesting angle. it seems a bit like playing telephone. americans, those silly people, whisper hipster and south africans hears wears ugly jerseys and thinks their cat, overpriced craft beer and coffee makes them a better person. i don’t want to wear an ugly jersey with a horse head that was hand knit by someone else’s mother and pretend it is cool. an ugly jersey by any other name is still an ugly jersey. my uncle has been making moonshine in his basement since forever so i call moonshine the new craft beer. and when it comes to cats…well, i like cats. i also like dogs. i think bats are cool. and giraffes are the most awesome of all animals. cats were never my  thing to write home about. if you are a fan of origin, truth & co. rest assured i am too. however most days i am perfectly fine with instant and when i lived in new york filter coffee from the corner deli was my favourite. if you think cat poop coffee is thing to drink i may just silently applaud someone with brilliant marketing skills who turned that shit into gold.

the thing is that i grew up in the 80s and a lot of things considered hipster in this city tend to go back to this era of unfortunate style choices. so to almost anything you throw at me, i can say been there, worn that. i already wore jerseys in unfortunate colours and prints as a child, so i am very happy to stick to black cashmere these days.  i learned when i was 8 years old that to pull off bangs you need to have a certain shape of face. if you don’t have said shape you will look scary or scared. or both. if you had to wear big glasses as a child and were teased for it, you are happy for the advances of modern days and the contact lenses that come with it. you won’t go out and spend a fortune on a pair of xxl bamboo frames. call it whatever you like, but this was not a good look back then and it ain’t a good look now:

on a final, very personal note, love it or hate it: i have been wearing my hair up in a high, somewhat messy bun since 2001. it wasn’t chloë sevigny, it was me who did it first. 

that and my onesie make me an original hipster if you care to call me such.

peasant blouse home made and shovel for organic 

gardening in the sand pit. 

rocking my christmas onesie and my brother's vinyl.

growing pains.

i just bought myself a set of measuring cups and now i feel like a proper grown-up.

it lasted for 45 minutes till i failed to make a very simple cupcake recipe. then i poured myself some wine to make me feel better. i never fail at pouring wine.

i say proper grown-up because i know statistically and biologically i have been in the grown-up category for a while. i have a job, i don't live with my parents, and i own a car. i have a credit card and i manage to pay it off most months. i not only have health insurance but also insurance for my flat, said car, and for in case i should ever lose my very expensive contact lenses. next year i will have to tick the 35 – 45 year box on surveys and i will have no excuse not to buy anti-ageing cream anymore. all this makes me a grown-up by a long stretch and is scares me a bit right now.

if you thought or think turning 30 is scary i somewhat lovingly call you a baby - you don't know anything yet. that box i will tick next year is way scarier than any 30^th could ever be.

stuff i like in winter.

i'm giving this thing of a regular “feature” another shot. i add the quotation marks because feature sounds a bit too grand for what i have in mind. With the quotation marks you know that i am only somewhat serious or at least pretend not to be.

back when i started blogging i took lots of pictures at least for my standards. whether people enjoyed them or not, i just enjoyed to post stuff. stuff i liked. judging by the comments people seem to enjoy my stories more and that's great. but the other day i was trying to find a category for my blog. But I couldn't as i couldn't find a random, somewhat funny blog with stories about wine, pasta, yoga and failed dates category. nothing came even close. thekla actually had to tell me that my blog would technically fall under the category of lifestyle blog. again lifestyle blog sounds very grand i think. i am much more happy with the random, somewhat funny blog with stories about wine, pasta, yoga and failed dates description. but then i figured, why not? if you can make the shoe somehow fit, just squeeze into it. i have a life, it has a certain style and unless we are talking about men, my taste in most other things is pretty good. so with that and the arrival of my new camera i am taking the liberty of showing things about life again. a new “feature” if you will and i shall just call it: stuff i like.

the first stuff comes with a bit of a confession. two weeks ago i was having a nasty girly moment about an ex's new girlfriend and how she announced on facebook that she was going on a non-carb diet. of course i was gleeful that she a) deemed it necessary to go on a diet and b) she wasn't going to be very happy for a while, because we all know that non-carb diets are a bitch and c) really? You tell the world on facebook? but it must have triggered something because i decided with my impending holiday to have a little self-restraint myself. now i am doing two weeks without wine and pasta, which - feel free to laugh at me – means i am probably more miserable right now than she is, because we know I really don't do well without wine and pasta.

i hope you don't feel the need to give me any dietary advice now. i am not eating fried bacon every morning and i do not expect to look like gisele afterwards. I am not having two of my favorite food groups (pasta and wine are food groups of course) for two weeks just to prove I can. And to eat make room for pad thai. call it half-a-lent in july for atheists.

i am usually not a big snacker or one with a sweet tooth but of course with all other pleasures denied i need something. that something i found in form of yoghurt covered raisins at wellness warehouse. if it comes from wellness warehouse it must be healthy, right, and so i have been eating a few more than a few every day. i wanted to get new ones today to take a picture and to my utter delight i found yoghurt covered peanuts which i bought instead. peanuts, people! i thought they wouldn't last through their picture taking session but to my surprise i like the raisins much more. obviously not enough to not eat the peanuts.

the measuring cup is from o.live, a shop i love with all my heart and my credit card loathes. my friend kate did laugh at me when i showed her, but then again she is a real scientist and couldn't believe why anyone would spend money on these things and put them in their flat as deco.

have i written a post about coconut water? i believe i have. i hate the fact that you can't recycle the little bottles (I hope coco life can take a hint) so i only get it once in while for a special occasion. like today when i can't have wine.

i love how it smells when you walk into enmasse and they have put that smell in a bottle. i have never deemed something like linen spray a good investment before, but i love that stuff on my pillows. i really wish they would make it into a proper fragrance (or can i just use linen spray on myself?).

live as if this is all there is. i guess you could put a tea light in, but i bought it for no other reason as to remind me daily of what it says.  

p.s. i will take the some pictures of stuff outside, i promise, but give me some time. just like any mother of a newborn i am still too terrified to take her, yes, that's the camera, outside. 

to eat or not to eat.

yesterday in class we were in half tortoise and i forgot to get out of the posture when everybody else did. well i didn't really forget, i just didn't hear sy when he told us to come out of it. why i didn't hear him? well, i was thinking about my arrival in bangkok and if there were still restaurants open late at night close to the hotel, oh but surely i can get a bowl of pad thai anytime in bangkok, right? so now i apparently not only think about cupcakes but also about pad thai in my yoga classes. next time you worry that you are not focussed enough or that your mind wonders, don’t worry about it, because there might just be a teacher practising next to you who is thinking about noodles.

for this mental slip i blame the fact that i haven’t eaten pasta in 4 (!!!) days for pre-holiday toning reasons and that my mind currently revolves around little else but the planning of my upcoming trip. as you know i am a planner. i plan for a living and i plan for fun and yes, sometimes to a fault. it leaves little room for living in the moment and being spontaneous and all the crap wise things wise people tell you to do if you really want to be happy. but my happiness levels are okay most days and so i continue planning.

at times like these i enjoy the planning immensely because it is like having a mental holiday before the actual holiday and also because planning calms my nerves and i am slightly freaking out here. freaking out because i am going to asia and i have never been and i have always wanted to and what if i hate it and get homesick and cold and and and… so i am planning and since most of my trip has a set itinerary, i am focussing all my attention on the few days that i have added before and after. the amount of research i have spent on junks in halong bay and pondered on the question of how much titanic pre-sinking luxury i can afford is extensive. tripadvisor and i have gotten well acquainted and also my good, old friend google came to the helping when i simply asked: how to pick the best junk in halong bay?

google is like the reincarnated oracle of delphi. it actually found me a blog post comparing three different cruises that the author had all done himself. i like that kind of enthusiasm and effort put into the story and after i went on reading. eventually i found a post of how he went to eat dog in vietnam. let’s leave the question of whether one should eat any animals aside for just a moment and dear vegetarians would you just indulge me for a story of pure adventurous foodie spirit? i need a little food challenge in asia. what should i eat? it’s a given that there will be an entire pastaholic story about the art of eating noodles for breakfast, don’t worry. but here are some of the more … exotic options on the menu which are to be considered:

pets. i don’t want to eat a dog or a cat or a hamster. i completely understand that in other cultures they are considered food and that is fine, but for me they are pets. also hamsters have tiny, little bones and unless it’s a quail tasting likewaffle i am not fan of tiny, little bones.

snake. i think i have ophidiophobia and that extends to eating the things. i sometimes gag just seeing a snake on tv, so i don’t think the attempt to eat one would go down well.

critters and insects. anything that looks like a maggot, and a worm is just a big maggot, is a no. sorry, but i don’t care about their protein content, if you ever had maggots in your house, you wouldn’t pay money to eat some either. but maybe something crunchy, cricket-y as long as it is fried. i like fried and crispy things.

feet and stuff. i have once vetoed a mexican thanksgiving stuffing with chicken feet, but have eaten pigs’ feet and ears, so i am not sure where that leaves me on the issue of feet and other body parts like that.

blood and gore intestines. i would not necessarily say no, unless hanoi in august smells the same as nyc meatpacking district in august.

and that leaves me with the crème de la crème of exotic asian food:

the fertilized egg. a vietnamese speciality. it gives an elegant twist to the conundrum of which came first – the chicken or the egg? and no, as much as i like chicken and eggs, i don’t want chicken in egg. i would however very much like to see some fertilized eggs when they hatch. apparently it happens on the markets in summer sometimes and i think that would be awesome to see. the chicken totally wings it and gets away. sorry sir, but your lunch just hatched and ran off! now i would pay money to see that.

to summarize one could say that though i eat quite a few things, the asian, exotics might not be completely up my alley. but i like a challenge. you tell me what and i take a bite and have a picture taken to prove it too!

camel burger in fez. delicious though i felt slightly bad as we were riding camels 

the next day.

i ate some of henry's brains. the picture does them justice - they were unexciting and mushy.

family addition.

i am having an acute bout of cabin fever. cabin fever as in i don’t want to be in cape town anymore, i want to go on my trip now. i do fully accept that all of you not living here will probably want to hit me over the head right about now for complaining. i get that, but i simply cannot sit still anymore and i am not quite sure how i will manage the next four weeks.

i would soothe my cravings with a little road trip, but there is a new addition in my family that makes the budget a bit tight. which is okay, because she is beautiful and i love her so much already.

the right shoes for travelling the world.

so today i have some exciting news and a champagne headache.

i'm going to be a contributor for travelettes.

that's the exciting news and you just don’t see me shrieking because of the headache. however i  am shrieking  and jumping up and down on the inside.

travelettes is a travel blog with a group of awesome girls who go out into the world and prove that backpacking in heels is not a contradiction. i like that premise and so i sent them an application and some stories. katja, the founder of the travelettes apparently liked my application letter so much that she already posted it on the blog and put my already fragile head into a slight overdrive.

reading important mail on my phone while still in bed with one eye closed is tricky business. i still gathered though that she really seemed to like my writing and since she is neither my mother nor am i paying her to say that, i was genuinely touched and happy and proud.

we may call a blog an online diary, but in the end we write to get read, don't we? a story told needs an audience. it's a bit like that thought experiment "if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" if we write and nobody reads it, does it matter that we write? we think that our words matter in one way or another and if someone else reads them it affirms this notion. 

at least that it is one of the main reasons why i write. i like writing, but i do write to be read. having someone tell me that they like what i write makes me happy, makes me want to write more, makes me want to write better, makes me even write in bed on sunday with a headache and it makes me grin silly.

now here is a little problem i have with this whole excitement though. i think i may have lied by omission in my application.

i don't wear heels and i certainly don't travel in them.

ups.

i dare say, i get shoes.  my taste in shoes is impeccable. i may not have many for women’s standards, but the ones i have are really, really good.  i have prada, dries van noten, vintage charles jourdan, pierre hardy, and repetto. however none of them have more than 2-inch heels. i hate to admit it, but i cannot walk in heels. it's not the pain, the pain usually one can drink away, but i simply cannot walk without looking odd and stumbling, sometimes i even add a full-on fall and/or ankle sprain. i don’t do it to myself when i go to work so why would i do it to myself when i go on vacation?

but now you probably wonder if i don't i want to be fancy sometimes and need shoes to go with it? the truth is, i don't think i am a very fancy person at heart. yes, i am sitting here with a champagne hangover but i also spilled a lot of said champagne very un-fancily all over my dress last night. truthfully as a girl it's usually enough to be fancy on top, most people don't care about the fanciness of your shoes. which i guess is a bit sad for the shoes, but also a reality of the world outside of fashion. years ago an ex visited me in new york before christmas. the visit didn't go very well so i was already in an unpleasant mood when our last evening finally came along. we had reservations at the rivercafe, the one truly fancy old school place where they still make men wear ties and stuff. i had already packed most of my wardrobe as i was leaving the next day and left with a choice of wearing strappy summer sandals or sneakers. they were light blue pumas and awesome as far as sneakers go, but obviously an odd choice for the rivercafe. since we were having a snow storm i didn't care and chose them over summer sandals. the ex wouldn't stop moaning and complaining about how they wouldn't let us in due to my shoe choice. he was right in that we didn't get in. however it was due to his lack of tie. because unlike they make it seem in the movies, restaurants like that don't keep a collection of spare clip-ons, they just give your table to some other dude who came without a reservation but wearing a tie.

so i’d say i am more cool (can i say that about myself without sounding like a complete ass?) than fancy and therefore my preferred choice of travel shoes have been my old vintage motorcycle boots. what can i say, unlike heels, they were actually made for walking. i have walked in them to fashion weeks in paris and new york, they have been to the vatican and the dome in milan, they have slept in five star resort in st. barth’s, park city and miami, and have ridden with me on a basotho pony in the lesotho highlands. they have lived by far a more exciting life than any heel that i ever bought, failed to walk in and which subsequently died alone and unworn in my closet.

having explained all of that, dear travelettes, i hope you won’t mind that i will therefore adhere to the credo of backpacking* suitcase-wheeling in vintage motorcycle boots.

*i did admit that i don’t even own a backpack and they didn’t seem to think that was a problem.