Entering the subway stop near my apartment, I maneuver adroitly between piles of discarded trash, cheap pink sparkling wine bottles and plastic wrappers advertising some sickly neon sugared concoction; as I exit, I maneuver adroitly between visiting businessman wielding boxed rolling luggage and European tourists in stark white sneakers, snapping up moments of billboards with their cameras. It is an immeasurable departure from the short strut to my car, a few precious moments of radio blaring, and the equally short strut to my suburban office. Dainty heels, while not completely extinct, some sartorial memory, are an item that necessitate much more careful consideration, planning, willingness to endure the potential for pain. A masochistic Monday.
It pleases me that the tuxedo, or smoking, depending on linguistic preference, flat has had an extended flaunting trend time. They are comfortable, easily adorned with some bit of fancy to add intrigue. This particular pair, nearly stolen off of the discount shelf of a bargain basement shoe warehouse, evoke a hint of flamboyant French eighteenth-century noble, topped with some mountainous powdered wig. A bit more modern, a bit more contained, and a bit more appropriate for walking the mean and harried streets of midtown Manhattan.
While hungrily gulping down the last swills of summer the other weekend at the beach in Delaware with my friend, childhood best Sarah, and her parents, I made sure to make the pilgrimage trek to the neighboring town of Milsboro, home to one of the most effusive, opulent collections of costume jewelry on the east coast. After our pupils adjusted to the dazzling glint glaring off the waves of rhinestone, Sarah and I scoured the store for unique finds to flaunt around the mean streets of our Brooklyn neighborhood. This brooch, gold leaf encircling bold colored stones, was a rather capricious purchase, spotted at the last moment as I was paying for my other goods. Surprisingly, given my expansive collection of random baubles, it is quite unlike anything else I own. Earlier this week, when temperatures rose once again to near treacherous heights, the street tar black and sticky, I wore my bit of goldsmith product as a pendant, a great homage to artifice, with a simple white cotton henley cut blouse. Against a simple canvas of white, the splash of bright stones embedded in the golden detailing shone, evoking an ancient emblem. As the weather cools and autumn returns, I hope to pair this brooch with a simple silk scarf and a plain black dress, again, let the piece stand ornate and alone.
