.....I read the superfantastic Manolo the Shoeblogger every chance I get. Where else can you read this?
Manolo says, oh how the Manolo remembers his own high school prom; it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
On the one of the hands the Manolo used the occasion to dress up in his finest frock coat and striped trousers, complete with the spats, the top hat, and the fancy walking stick. He looked like the seventeen-year-old version of the Rich Uncle Pennybags from the Monopoly.
Yet, on the other of the hands, because no one had actually consented to go to the prom with the Manolo, he was forced to stand outside the gymnasium and make the snide remarks to himself about those who were entering.
As we all know, historically, the typical dress of the bridesmaid employed such undermining tactics as the over abundance of rump-enlargening ruffles, and the strategically misplaced, bust-minimizing wickety-wack, to make the attendants look faintly (if not explicity) ridiculous.
Naturally, the good friends endured this humiliation, safe in the knowledge that, someday, this bride would herself be wearing the ridiculous dress in someone else’s wedding. And thus the circle of fashion violence remained unbroken
Genius. And beautiful shoes. What more could a girl want?