Pulling It Off

These are my Pucci boots:


I adore these boots. I love them beyond reason. They are made of patterned lycra fabric that is stretched over a pair of satin pumps; a sort of ingenious boot/sock hybrid. They are a tiny bit uncomfortable, and not all that easy to walk in (I think it’s something about the shape of the heel – it’s a bit underslung). They are also noisy – there is a thin metal strip that runs vertically down the back of the heel that says “Emilio Pucci” and makes this sort of ringing, clacking noise every time the heel hits the pavement:


All that being said, I don’t care. I love them. They make me happy.

Now, somewhere in the world other people are buying Pucci boots like these, but so far none of those people have crossed my path. Judging from the responses I usually get from others when I wear them, they’re not crossing other peoples’ paths all that often, either. My Pucci boots are greeted with gasps of shocked delight wherever I go. Men have literally dropped to their knees before me, looked up into my face and asked in reverent tones, “Can I touch them?” (This last is an amount of power it is not healthy for a personality like mine to possess, incidentally.)

Of course, not everyone gets the Pucci boots. Some people are downright put off by the Pucci boots. I have one friend who seemed positively affronted by the Pucci boots the first time she saw them. She had the good grace not to say anything, but nothing could disguise the look that flashed across her face. She is a lovely person with many sterling qualities, so I forgive her, but she does not like the Pucci boots.

So. Most people love the Pucci boots. No one else wears them. And here is the comment that they invariably elicit from at least one woman every time I wear them:

“Oh, I love those, but I could never pull them off.”

Variations on this theme include:
"Oh, I just love the way you dress, but I could never get away with it."
"You wear the greatest clothes, but they'd look ridiculous on me."

I'd like for people to stop saying these things to me. For one, while I know full well that I am a bit of a fashion exhibitionist, I'm not exactly running around in this:

(Christian Dior Couture F/W 06, Mr. Galliano you are a genius)

(Although you can bet that if I ever have the means/occasion to do so I'm going to be pretty damned excited.)

No, there is a larger problem here. It baffles me. I mean, why on earth couldn't you pull it off? I'm not magic, I'm not even beyond-average good-looking. I don't have a Fashion Fairy Godmother. (But the post is open if you're interested, Mr. McQueen.) The only thing that seems to separate me from the non-Pucci-booters is my willingness to put the damn things on. So right here in my very first entry of my brand new blog, we're going to crack the code. This is the Big Secret to Pulling It Off, in Three Easy Steps:

1. Put it on. ("it" being fabulous item of clothing or accessory)
2. Look in mirror. Like it.
3. Walk out the door.

Ta-daaaaaaa!!

Smile. Hold your head high. Congratulations. You're Pulling It Off.