"Every woman needs the following: her 'fuck me' shoes and her 'don't fuck with me' shoes." – Heather Champ

…too many pairs of shoes. It has been said by some that I own enough shoes, to which I respond, are there enough stars in the sky?

Via email, a response

The sky is vast, but our closet is not.

Via email, a response to the response

You live in NY now…that's what your stove is for.

I have found a new love and his name is Paul Smith. Shopping this weekend with Choire (at an undisclosed Manhattan location) we stumbled across of hoard of Paul Smith's women's clothing at deep discount. Feminine and lovely yet wearable, Smith's designs had all the little details that drive me crazy when it comes to clothing: beautiful satin polka-dot lining inside a plain black coat, red seams and satin floral lining inside a plaid suit coat, and little pink bows on skirts and dresses. Delightful stuff, if only his website weren't such a Flash monstrosity, I could see what he's been up to lately.

Lance on shoes over at Glassdog. As someone with the potential for a full-blown case of Shoe Fanaticism, I loved ever bit of this tale.

Miss Maggie is at it again with Women's Fashion: Part III, Hats. I've always wished we women still wore hats and gloves while out and about. Perhaps fashion (thanks to Maggie's influence) will turnaround and we'll begin to don hats again even when we're not on the ski slope.

While in NYC, I also visited the new Prada store designed by Rem Koolhaus and I was very disappointed. I had decided that no matter what the price of the items, I would try something on, just to experience the dressing rooms with the "butt view" display screens. But there was nothing, and I mean nothing, that even looked cool to me. In Vegas I'd seen a beautiful little black dress at the Prada store at the Bellagio, so I thought maybe something like that would be ideal. But this store was filled with ridiculous, horrible, peasant-style blouses and $4,200 pants with fabric flowers attached to them. The only thing I tried on was a pair of black, fur-lined, snowboarding gloves, but that didn't necessitate a trip to the dressing room.

Oh, the space was cool and all that, but the vibe and the fashion was just too-too for me, as in "I'm too smart (and poor) to spend tootally too much money on this absurd clothing." It's a shame, I want to like Prada, I really do. But I don't. (Except some of the shoes, I do like some of the shoes.)