Bubbles & Heels

Two weeks ago, an envelope landed on the doormat. From Shoebaloo. For their good and valued customers, they organized a nice get together at their branch in Cornelis Schuytstraat in Amsterdam. ‘Did I buy that much?’ my Calvinistic half wondered. ‘Maybe I should score a nice heel for the summer right away’, luckily, the true me was back.

Champagne and Fiona, the best mix

“Your colleague is already here,” said the nice doorman immediately. I thought he meant Liesbeth, but he was aiming for Fiona Hering, my television colleague (and dear fashion friend, but the best guy couldn’t possibly know that). In one motion, a glass of champagne landed in my hand. And a Prada pump on my foot.

Overcritical Vogue editor

Dear Lieke van Lexmond was neatly sipping a Spa blue (because pregnant and my oh my, she looked great), Vogue’s editor Rinke Tjepkema dismissed everything that made Fiona drool. “But it’s totally Debbie Harry,” Fiona sputtered. Exactly, you could see Rinke thinking. It must be a generational difference. I actually thought Fiona’s finds were amazing. Luckily, my Prada heels could charm the overly strict Rinke.

Blame it on the Pradas

Jetteke van Lexmond walked in, flanked by the most beautiful arm candy, her blonde and perfectly styled sons. It was a coming and going of stylish types. Leontine Borsato came in (didn’t even have time to greet her, I blame the Pradas) and Carolien Tensen with her other steady boyfriend; daughter Lot.

Drooling over the bags

I left Liesbeth drooling (or is foaming at the mouth a better term) by the bag display. Asked Fiona to keep an eye on her and whisper appropriate advice in case of turning red and hyperventilation.

Come to bed

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment while I slid my credit card through the slot. Round down, don’t think about it anymore, put the shoes at the foot of your bed and dream about them is the motto.