Thursday, March 22, 2012

In the Quest of the Perfect Wedges

Of all things about shopping in Delhi, the one most annoying thing is that you just can't find a good pair of wedges that aren't exorbitantly priced. If you are willing to shell out a couple of grands over a single pair of shoes you might find something in one of the malls in South Delhi. But try going for some savings and you have to learn to grow some patience. And especially in my size (41-42/7.5) its almost next to impossible

I started wearing heels last year with a modest 4 inches glossy black gladiator stilettos. They still weren't quite my size. It took a gladiator like struggle to stuff my feet into them. Must thank my dear friend, 'Peach milk moisturizer' (More on this later)! But once in, they were the sexiest thing I ever walked in. There's just something about heels. Being able to balance on thin stick like contraptions and still walk sexy is whole other kind of enlightenment in itself. Not to mention how horny your ass feels popping out into the world swaying one cheek after the other.

The pain is a whole other aspect. I obviously die after like an hour of walking in them. I can't stand in one place and pay attention to some academic going on and on about politics without shifting my legs looking all impatiently fidgety to escape to the nearest bar and get drunk with random strangers. Well, I do want to escape out of the conversation most of the times. But hey, there's something called pretending to be nice to people.

Early on this year I was determined to get higher heels before my birthday. As this would be my first birthday as a single lady paying her own rent. And luckily I found these awesome pair of black pencil heeled platform boots. 6 inches! It sure is an experience to look horizontally in the eye to people who look like they have somehow evolved down from Eucalyptus trees. And guess where I found them. Yes. My best friend Saro!

But sadly another aspect of winter austerities is shoes. In winters its easier to tuck your feet somehow into closed boots. But for summer you want to wear something open and minimalistic. And I am always one size too big for all the pretties out there. And even if I try to fit into the strappy ones, they just don't look like an aesthetic sight. Its like a clumpy dough being pushed through a strappy grater. Ew!

I really wanted to go all chic this year. Flowy tops. Hot pants. And strappy wedges. (One of the main reasons why I plan to get waxed this year) But alas, a nice pair of wedges are like a treasure hunt. I hope I find them before the hot pants season passes away....

The strappy wedges I desire

Another idea inspired from Henry Moore's sculptures

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

As the Coats Come Off

A three month long winter hibernation finally get’s over. Marked by a weekend long spell of back to back washing of everything from clothes and undies to winter woolens to bed spreads to shoes, my washing machine is on the verge of disowning me. The degree of messiness of my room has started to die down and reveal forgotten packs of cigarettes igniting the little joys of life soon to fade away in a smokey exasperation.

The worst part of oncoming summers is that you can’t hide behind layers of clothing anymore. Especially the layers of some really awesome looking long coats. Coats that create an illusion of some abstract shape your body is comfortably tucked in without worrying about those unwanted curves popping out from here and there. The moment they come off you suddenly realize you have gained a gazillion kilos since the last time you strutted around in a white tee some time last year. Flab can be camouflaged. You get custom tailored pants and denims with a 50’s waistline that goes right over your navel. And you wear a belt so tight that if you sneeze it might just tear into your flesh. If only they sold girdles in Sarojini Nagar. Or maybe they do… (Note to self: Wear ginormous shades and a hat next time to prevent being recognized in case you do find girdles)

So I embark upon a self rejuvenation process. Just yesterday I spent almost a grand on a variety of cosmetics [Himalaya, of course- The Sanskrit ingredients on the back provides the least bit of a denial that they are no bureaucratic cosmetic chemicals burning your already suicidal skin {And that’s the second time I used the word “Bureaucratic” (Pats self on back)}] Walnut scrub, ‘Oil-Balancing’ Face wash, Mud Pack and Cucumber peel off amongst other stuff. But to compensate all the ayurveda, I finally decided to renounce Medimix soap and got myself a Shower Gel. Come on let’s face it, a foamy loofa is like the cutest thing evah.

Now the next thing on the list to tackle the austerities of winter is discovering a good place where I can work out with aerobics or pilates or both. I can’t do a gym. Lord knows I tried. All those weights with the muscle-boy trainers (hot) grunting at you (hot) to do 54678th set was super depressing. Even all the jaat boys in the world couldn’t get me to stretch anymore. And Lord knows I can ‘stretch’. All a girl really wants is to wear tights and dance and twist and bend. Or at least that’s what I seriously hope Aerobics would be all about.

Also, at some point this year, I plan to muster all the courage in my life and get my very first waxing done. MmmHmm. Don’t ask.