Why do certain faces make me think of shoes? Ballerina slippers in particular? I guess because ballet flats were championed by dancers who became actresses and stars who walked like they were dancing and French girls in particular who always walk like they are bolting and the occasional English girl who is so mad she becomes French. Voila Birkin!
When I wear my sweet soft deliciously posh Ballerinas I don't need the battered existential trench coat. It becomes virtual and I don't need the cigarette either, though I imagine one (!) and suddenly my ordinary daily activities become a short black and white art film shot by Wes Anderson. Restrained glamour. Strange turning points. Black eyeliner. Lots of that.
I know, I know...it's just a pair of shoes. But this pair cast something like a magic spell. And if you're not actually in Paris, all the more reason to scamper around like a classic French film star. Like I said...the raincoat is optional.
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