Between a wedge and a wet place.

Gather your meemaw. Pack your fox fur. Fatten your pig.

The floods are coming.

I'm not big on dressing for the weather. I tend to weigh the time I'll suffer the wrath of the elements (typically about seven minutes, tops) against the long, luxurious hours to be spent peacocking around indoors and just hightail it to my destination severely underclothed. Pros: I walk faster than most golf carts can travel and my immune system rivals that of a cockroach. Cons: Hey, is that a rock in my shoe?/Nope, that would be the ground/I am perpetually wearing holes in the soles of my not-so-water-resistant footwear.

No more. I refuse to sacrifice another pair of leather boots to some bitch sidewalk that thinks it knows my life. Destruction don't come cheap, and nor does it complement my home pedicure. Having said that, don't expect to catch me splashing around in some polka-dot Target monstrosity. The time has come to invest in a pair of wellies that don't make me want to gouge out my eyes with a pair of six-inch YSL Tribute sandals.

Enter the weatherproof wedge boot.



Hunter has more or less asserted itself as the mainstream king of rainy day footwear, and I'm altogether smitten with the brand's Verbier model in slate. Where traditional Hunters can be a bit utilitarian for my taste, these are glossy and flirty, but still neutral enough to be worn with almost any ensemble. I love that the jaunty red laces add an on-trend splash of color. I also love that the boots come equipped with a neutral set of laces that can be swapped in for non-red letter days. We are all about balance here at La Vie en Ginger. Which is what you'll be doing a lot of in towering heels on slippery concrete.



On the other foot, we have two slightly more gravity-cooperative options from Loeffler Randall. These win points for their back zippers, designed for easier pants-tucking and more graceful rainy day stripteases (who says I don't shop with practicality in mind)? I'm drawn to the knee-high version...love me some ankle booties, but I question whether a shortie lace-up would hold up to torrential downpour and habitual puddle splashing. Rubber don't make it a rain boot, 'chu know? 'Chu know? Either pair comes in either color, which is yet another question to consider. Regardless, I delight in the fact that neither reduces the calves to cankley rubber stalks.

Call me Natalie Imbruglia, because I am torn. Jaunty versus striptease? Where would even one begin to make one's decision? Call me Sophie, because I have a choice to make! Just don't call me late for dinner!

Speaking of choices, yesterday was supposed to be the first day of my detox from the unchecked no-carb-left-behind spree that has been February 2011. Said detox lasted until 3pm, when I broke down and made banana bread (the brown bananas I've been hoarding in a paper bag for two weeks were finally perfect. Who am I to argue with nature?) and devoured half the loaf with butter and sea salt and possibly even a dollop (see, a dollop! So diet-friendly!) of Nutella. The good news: The banana bread was freakishly good and merits a recipe post in the near future. The bad news: What occurred when I tried to put on my pants this morning, aka the new first day of my detox.

Oh and I'm a redhead again, so if you see someone who looks like me but has a weird, unnatural version of my natural hair color, don't scream "ROBOT IMPOSTER!" and wrestle her to the ground. Unless she's wearing polka-dot Target rain boots. Then you have the green light.

Augustatic is one step away from Septembrilliant.

It’s around this point in any given summer that I typically begin to develop a hint of weather-related wanderlust. These three steamy months are a particular brand of laissez-faire delightful, but they sure do make it easy to fall into a rut of wearing only airy sundresses for weeks on end. In dreaming ahead to times when sweat-induced dry cleaning bills will be merely a memory and layering will once again become an active consideration in my wardrobe, I've begun to assemble my fall fashion wish list. And I mean wish list. As in, I wish there was a chance in Hell I would be able to get my hands on one or more of these things by October. Now that a budgeting disaster called “I greatly enjoy mojitos” has sabotaged my fall shopping allowance, I’ll be lucky if I can afford to eat for the next four weeks, let alone buy a new pair of mom jeans from Salvation Army to shred into cutoffs.

But just like J. Lo's love, online window shopping don't cost a thing. Therefore, I will be debriefing my top picks for fall over the next couple of weeks, operating under a fantasy budget of whatever it takes. So let’s kick things off (heh) with:







Nailing down this summer’s official shoe crush was less exciting than it has been in years past, as this shoemance sadly has little to no chance of coming to fruition. This is partly because I have no income, and partly because Rumi “Fashion Toast” Neely has since given these Sam Edelman boots her blessing, so I’m sure they’ll be sold out in my size before I get the opportunity to save up for them. At any rate: want, in black (I’m generally nuts for gray, but not as nuts for the combo of gray and brown) leather (they also come in suede, but I never spend more than $75 on shoes that will inevitably be ruined in two weeks’ time), size eight and a half (if anyone's feeling generous). Envisioning them with slouchy paper bag-waisted shorts, a vintage blouse and a neatly tailored blazer. Equal parts classic and quirky.

What’s that I hear? You barely even signed on for the clog phenomenon, and now you’re being expected to embrace clog boots? Yep. Embrace them. Embrace them right now. I actually prefer these to clogs' original rendering. The streamlined shape and artful cutouts make them appear less clunky than traditional clogs, while still channeling their earthy, 1970s-era charm.

Stay tuned for another fall frontrunner tomorrow. Also, a breaking addendum to my Twitter rant: if you have Foursquare linked to your Twitter account, I will punch you in the face. Peace and blessings.

Loafing around.

Remember when I decided to embark on a search for the perfect pair of loafers?





Found these in Second Best Thrift in Astoria, Queens. Literally the best thrift store I have ever visited. I realize this is a strong statement coming from a secondhand goddess such as myself, but there is nothing about this place that isn't amazing. There's no rhyme or reason to the layout, which might prove frustrating to some, but I relish poking around for hours to unearth the best of the best from tangled piles and musty armoires. So many thrift stores give you secondhand clothes in a crowded, overwhelming retail mall format (and for astronomical prices, to boot). Worst of both worlds! If I'm gonna go thrifting, I want a grandma's attic experience for mere pocket change, and this place delivers. It also boasts an impressive selection of ugly-chic footwear, which is so where I'm at these days.

Anyway, I love that these are light enough to wear right now, but not so much so that I won't be able to transition them into fall. They're also the most comfy. I walked from Times Square to SoHo, then back up to Union Square by way of all three Villages (East, West and Greenwich) yesterday and barely felt a thing. That is a long-ass way, for the record. It wasn't until later, when I was stumbling from the Meatpacking District back down to SoHo in a Blue Moon-fueled haze, that I finally had a stop in a hotel for a Band-Aid.

Everything will be coming up roses...in just a few more lunar cycles.

Why is it that I always find myself thinking, "I just have to get through this week. This week is my hard week, and then I'm golden," yet the so-called "easy week" never seems to come? God bless the quarter system.

That was my feeble attempt at a disclaimer for the fact that this is basically unadulterated spring fashion porn. I'm sick of windburn and layering...I just want to look pretty. If your Seasonal Affective Disorder is in full force, consider this a reminder that there is, in fact, a light at the end of the tunnel:

Blazer: Apiece Apart.
Dress: Dolce Vita.
Shoes: Miu Miu.
Watch: ASOS.
Clutch: Sondra Roberts.

A few things to marinate on: Feminine meets masculine. Hard meets soft. Snakeskin. Rose gold. Floral accents.

Simmer away. I'll be in touch.

Ridin' flirty.

The perfect pair of flat boots has long been the linchpin to a complete winter wardrobe. Neutral colors like black, brown and gray match everything in your closet, justifying the investment, while metal details such as buckles and studs cater to your personal style.







I've been on the lookout for a new pair ever since my chocolate leather riding boots (purchased, irreplaceably, in Italy) bit the dust (for the sixth time...replacing a zipper is one thing, replacing a sole is another). These Frye clover-tab stompers are the first I've truly fallen in love with. Wear them with yesterday's sweater, skinny jeans and a colorful pashmina for a posh holiday shopping outfit that won't drown you in your own sweat the moment you step out of the chill and into a cozy department store.

Eyes bugging out of head.

Every now and then, you come across a pair of shoes so special that everything else - your Starbucks fetish, your credit card debt, your need for textbooks and/or a home - disappears. This is called a shoe crush, and it is a serious affliction.

Now, I'm no Becky Bloomwood, but I allow myself one extravagant (for a college student in Chicago) pair of shoes per summer, with the qualifier that I have to first maintain a serious shoe crush over at least two months' time. Last year it was a pair of burgundy patent peep-toe Mary Janes that I salivated over on my way into the mall every day for my retail job. As my friends can attest, they were worth every penny - I loved them to death (and subsequently wore them to death - that thing they say about replacing the plastic heel caps before they wear off completely? Yeah, do that.). Rewarding yourself for hard work with something you've consciously saved for is an excellent reminder not to waste money on the trivial.







Maybe I'm still reeling from Dior's black-and-nude duos in the Fall '09 couture show, but when I stumbled across these L.A.M.B. heels this morning I nearly dropped my iPod Touch in the pool. How perfect would they be with everything from a little black dress to pegged boyfriend jeans and a cardigan? With bright colors and basics? With black tights and without? This is it for this summer, folks. These are The Ones. I'm just praying I can still get my hands on them at the end of my two-month waiting period - they sold out in my size on Piperlime within literally an hour. Nordstrom, wait for me!

P.S. Runway reviews are in the works for Jean Paul Gaultier and Valentino. Couture is exhausting. I needed a break.

Oh hey there, stud.

WAIT. I NEED THESE.







Piperlime, $175.

OBSESSED.