Alright. So a few months back when I was instagramming and blogging with the frequency required of me as a blogger of international fame (naturally), I took my mum on a mad quest to find myself a massive pair of gold disco sandals. I wanted them! I NEEDED them! My very existence as a person-of-fashion hung in the balance!! You know one of those moments in life when you feel voidy and unsure? When nothing will secure your stability but a giant gold pair of throwback party platforms? It was one of those moments. It was one of those times.
My obsessive determination was ON. The nerves were heightened, the chocolate was on hand, the mental rolodex of every gold disco platform I ever met or ogled in a magazine was flipping away at warp speed and the challenge proved irresistible. I would find them. By hook or by crook. As I dragged her through the fluorescent lit alleyways of Souq Salmiya, hoping and praying that the next window full of stripper platforms and Gianmarco Lorenzi ripoffs (what up Shooosh) would contain the treasure I sought, my determination did not flag.
Boxes and boxes we opened to diappointment... Windows merged into windows.. My mother was threatening to tranquelize me and shove me in her car. I said fear not dear mum! Our search is a noble one. We search for purity of form. A true, clean, modern version of a 70s platform. It is strong and thick-strapped, it is chunky-heeled yet comfortable. It borrows from the playful forcefulness of
Miu Miu yet throws it up brash like
Yves Saint Laurent circa
Studio 54 (which apparently my mum totally hit up in New York back in the day WTF). I search for an elusive treasure, a seahorse among real horses, a gem among Swarovski stick-ons! And all for the happy sum of 7 KD thanks very much. Or so I though it would be...
So they brought out the hooker heels and my mum looked askance. She was too embarrassed to look at them. But, I (her woman-of-the-night daughter) was not too embarrassed to grill the shop assistants on each gold they had or will ever stock.
Then the glitter ones were not available.
And then.. WHY WOULD ANYONE RIP OFF GIANMARCO BLOODY LORENZI? And that stuff is like, 100KD man.
Then I got distracted. OMG the orange ones in front! So pre-digital cartoon! So Minnie Mouse!!
The the hooker mules. My mum was holding an airplane sick bag at this point. Sidebar: did anyone notice airplanes no longer have sick bags? What's up with that?
Then I bought some stuff.
And 3 months later I ended a weekend in the
US pretty badly. The world was shit.
And naturally I'm at
Bergdorfs shoe salon waiting for
Perry to leave his job at
Chanel down the street so we can stuff our faces with lobster rolls and whinge when I spot something on the table. And the gold started to ring gleefully in my ears once again. Standing in the 9th circle of despair in the
Prada/MiuMiu/Tods section of
BG, I knew for a damn fact that my quest had come to its conclusion. The perfect drop platform (not too much of an angle at the front, elegant swoop at the back but not too swoopy to be sporty or worse...
Giuseppe), the simple design, the full-on perfect stuck-on heel, the subtle caviar calf gold, the retro circular buckle, the 70s-
Miu Miu- Saint Laurent perfectblend (TM), COMFORT, to wear every bloody day like my whole life is a bloody party? Here. They. Were. Like ambrosia on a sweltering summer afternoon, like flamingos in the desert, like
Prada instead of dinner.
And they were not 7 KD.
But they was gon be miiiiiiine.
I FOUND THE TREASURE OF ELDORADO.
And so the story goes ladies and gents. This is a moral tale, for it contains many life lessons about determination, courage and the unexpected closure one finds at unexpected moments. The truth is that the more I journey through this life, the more I learn and experience, the better I understand the fundamental rule of my existence: All roads lead to Prada. And good night.
