1. Dahlia Dress 2. Missy Jacket 3. Rosy Socks 4. Force of Beauty
Mary Poppins was kind, gentle, comforting, and fair. She disciplined firmly but judiciously and with compassion, she had a lovely singing voice, boundless energy, and her company was an absolute pleasure. For these attributes the children loved her dearly, but before they allowed her the opportunity to demonstrate her prowess as the ultimate nanny, they had to pay attention to her first. They had to have a reason to listen. They had to be intrigued. Mary was no ordinary nanny, shuffling through the door with the heavy weight of life and of the street compressing her into a boring, shrieking yet unnoticeable lump of a human. She floated down from the sky, straight and elegant, chin up and heels down. Everything about her was supremely capable yet remarkably unusual. Wouldn’t you permit her to direct you in any endeavor she chose? Of course you would. She is a walking, talking, living adventure in the slim, erect body of a woman. She’s successful because she’s brilliantly different. You’ll work with thousands of people in your life whether you like it or not, and the interwebz is clotted with thousands of iterations of the same standard, boring advice essentially instructing you how to not stand out, how to look serious, how to be appropriate.
The Dahlia Dress is a layerable, easy-breezy, season-chameleon of a shift. Dots and stripes zig and zag across the lightweight fabric in shades of red and black, creating the effect of someone having managed to jumble together the backgammon and checkers sides of the same game board in an utterly frivolous and completely desirable way. Do you need a little jacket to throw over that? How about evergreen pleather? Well, why not? ANSWER ME. WHY NOT? I thought so. You’re really going to dig those zippered pockets and the way it goes with everything in the whole world except everyone else’s predictable black version. We’re moving into chillier days so you should wear socks; having cold toes is one of those small annoyances that somehow manages to overcome its triviality and spread malignantly into the rest of your day. You should wear socks and they should not be white nor black socks, they should be pink ones, as rosy and cheerful as a drunk baby. Now you’re thinking, “Pink socks? What shoes do I have that look even moderately reasonable with pink socks?” Hush. You have these. They are called “Force of Beauty”, and like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson or Vlad the Impaler, their name does not lie. An ode to footwear in carnation and forest, these are the culmination of thousands of years of shoemaking, these are the apex, the opus, this is as good as it gets. Stop the machines, shut down the factories, send the workers home. There is no need for more shoes. They will never better, never be prettier, never more perfect. They are a symphony of textures and the definition of versatile. Their lines are a lilting, swooping chorus in leather and lacquer, the almond oxford toe hums of effortless sophistication and the smooth, sleek arch veers in a joyful curve away from the sidewalk to cling lovingly to your foot. They prance, they dance, they cavort with chimneysweeps on rooftops, they go with everything with graceful ease and they never, ever blend in.