The last time I tried to go out with one of my most fashionable, and dearest friends, I mixed up the nights and ended up dressed to the nines in my favorite print with nowhere to go except home, and nothing to do but make my favorite, fallback tofu recipe.So last night was a real treat indeed. We ended up at a chic little boutique on Melrose to celebrate her friend, Jerome Rosseau's Spring Collection of shoes.
They were to die, of course, and as I stood tall and proud in my
nude platforms, I couldn't help but think of how Mr. Louboutin himself told Vanity Fair's May issue that his "supertop customer owns over 6,000 pairs of (his) shoes" ~ 6,000?! Really, Danielle Steele, really?! So glad my mother and I obsessively read your books in my preteens, further assisting my own shoe fetish to live vicariously through you and all your gluttony. Holy God that's a lot of shoes. But back to Jerome, this guy is a shoe genius (and so down to earth, humble, and just fun to be around) and it took every restraint left in my bones to not blow our entire rent money on these babies:
When I met French actress, Roxane Mesquida, all 5 foot nothing of her, so tiny, yet svelte and perfectly cool, I was blown away by her style, striking beauty, and subtle, yet aloof French charm. (Why are French women so damn sexy?)
We capped the night with some shiraz at a trusty favorite on Franklin, where we were greeted warmly by our bearded friend, who once starred in our reality pilot on love in LA, still doing his time as waiter con dreams in Hollyweird.
You gotta love this town. x
