I have these recurring nightmares about my beautiful best friends wedding, which is why this bit causes me to write to you in the cold sweat of a girl who remembers being precariously shod and teetering up to a dangerous precipice: In the magnificent venue that is Cottonwood Canyon, Utah, I stood above a narrow rock staircase down which we were to descend in floor length sky-blue shantung gowns while clutching a large bouquet of blushing peonies, and wearing thong kitten heels.
The deep breath I choked on at the top of that canyon, wondering why I ever agreed to a cliff descent in an evening gown and heels while attempting to make a lovely display of a fistful of peonies, has stayed with me. I turned to my girlfriend behind me on the ledge, "I am going to end up in a pile of blue shantung and pink petals at the bottom of this canyon."
"I'm just trying not to hit the peacocks in free fall." She said through her teeth.
Once in a while I come across a story that returns me to that day with alarming clarity. The 2007 Venetian Heritage Gala (held in Venice, by Americans and largely for Americans) was one of those well-intentioned events that held venue over Louboutin's. Against all sanity, there in the city of canals and cobblestone, with the most literally well-heeled guests American philanthropy could hope to assemble in Europe on any June evening, the cocktail hour was held in a separate venue from the dinner at Palazzo Pisani Moretta. After cocktails, the guests proceeded to water taxis and were transported to the palazzo in a boat procession.
I quake at the thought of standing on the hotel dock in black-tie worthy shoes. It is a Blushing policy that heels, evening gowns, and natural beauty do not mix. Were a glass of wine added to the equation for a reveler of that combination, it is the It-girl perfect storm; I am here to tell you, I have seen this girl go head first into the drink in Newport harbor which may sound novel at least as a conversation starter, but was more like a train wreck clad in Givenchy.
When I go to Venice, I take flats and very, very high rubber boots. In an instance of boats and black-tie, or mountains and black tie (someday I will tell you of a mad hatter's dinner high in a mountain peak) consider beautiful low shoes under evening gowns: Have the dress fit to your flats and thank me in the morning.