A reader named Leslie got in touch in to say she was having a hard time tracking them down: “These appear not to be available anymore,” she wrote. “How can it be?” I believed it couldn’t possibly—and felt a generational obligation to investigate.*
Leslie had no cause for concern. Dr. Scholl’s Exercise Sandals still very much exist, although most of the newer models aren’t going to please purists: the soles are darker and look synthetic, its classic lines have been messed with, and the sole has a rubbery middle layer. All of this combines rather unfortunately to make them look like Dr. Scholl’s knockoffs instead of the real thing. For those, you’ll need to turn to our old friends at the Vermont Country Store where they’ve them in all their jolie laide glory, in blue, beige, and white, just like you remember them.
The ad is from a vintage issue of Seventeen, and I’m trying to figure out precisely how vintage: what do you say, guys? 78? 79? Possibly early, early 80s? That short denim skirt is throwing me off, but the parted-down-the-center-feathered hair of the guy to the left is pure 1978.
Combat boots? Or flat lace-up boots of any stripe? I remain conflicted, but do think this rather nouvelle punk pair from Zadig & Voltaire is not without its charms
I know, I know, I know, I know: everything you could tell me about the generationally inappropriate nature of a 48 year-old woman trying to pull off Doc Martens I have told myself already. And why I’m fixated on this rather bold 20-eye model completely eludes rational thought, but I wonder. Are any of you out there with me?
This pair by Fiorentini & Baker probably belongs more in a category that fashion magazine copywriters would refer to as men’s haberdashery, and has as much in common with an oxford as they do a boot. Making them the most refined but least statement-y choice. What with elegance being refusal and etc.
This is one beauty treatment that’s never much tempted me. Because it’s pricey and doesn’t last long and—like self-tanning and botox—going to a technician who has anything but a super-light hand can result in a dead giveaway. But nobody warned me about the fact that at a certain point in a woman’t life, her eyelashes start thinning out. And I have found this development quite irksome. So on Sunday, at the Flatiron District MAC store (where, BTW, I found the exactly perfect shade of un-sparkly, not at all Heather Locklear-ian dark navy eyeshadow that has been eluding me) when I complimented the girl who rang me up on her lashes, and she gave me a card with the name and number of the place where she got them done, I stuck that card in my bag and there it remains. It’s half as much as fancy salons charge, and all the MAC girls go there, apparently. And I figure their recommendation would be as good as it gets on this front. But still: not quite sure I can clear this hurdle. Anyone?
I was born in Houston, Texas in 1964 and have lived in New York City since 1988. I had a long career in magazines, working at Sassy, Elle, New York, and Spin, and in 2000, I founded Lucky magazine, which I edited for ten years.