THE NEWSLETTER YOU CAN READ WHILST CHILLING - 06/12/22
Patricia tells you all about her love of shoes.
Tuesday December 6th, today is St Nicholas Day and, surprise, surprise, I feel like having a drink. Well, no, let's be honest, I feel like having 6. Why so many? Because that's the size of a bottle. And it's been 4 months + 2 days (4 + 2 = 6. Coincidence? I don't think so) since I last drank alcohol. Not a drop, do you hear me? It's enough to drive you mad and make you bang your head against the pole dance bar. On the face of it, of course, because in reality I've never felt so alive as I do now that I'm not wetting my whistle. More alive, but also more boring, say some people at the back of the room? No, that's not true. I've got my mermaid body back, my flat sea bream belly, and my desire for unbridled cuddles under the duvet, on the table, in the toilets, on the terrace, in the metro. Thanks to this sudden stop, I've rediscovered the thread that led me through the labyrinth of my self. Does the end of alcohol mean the end of parties, of dancing on tables, of laughing about completely stupid things? Yes, perhaps, but on the other hand, it means no more screaming mornings, no more hangovers, no more dizzying slumps, no more crazy stress and no more health complications that weigh down your carbon footprint. So yes, you have to have fun and relax.
Yes, but does it involve alcohol? Nothing is less certain. Last month I was having dinner with a village idiot who told me that I was extreme in my total abstinence. Extreme, that's what it's come to, those who don't drink are extreme. I kept quiet and fifteen minutes later this unkempt turkey was arguing with her husband. I have a plethora of examples, but I'm going to limit myself to this one, because I can't forget that we're here to talk about shoes that sparkle and change lives, change destinies. Which is why, on the last pairs delivered by the factory, I decided to have them blessed and loved by Master Kuratchi, whom I met on one of my treks in Nepal when I was looking for inspiration for my forthcoming collections. There, alone in the middle of mountains frequented exclusively by voracious birds of prey and snow leopards, I waited for my soul to rub shoulders with the demon of creation. I waited for an entire quarter. In the rain, in the extreme cold, under the threat of ferocious beasts that howl like T-rexes at dusk.
But I stood my ground, like a big girl, under my tent made of tulip petals, telling myself that these animals weren't after me because they didn't know me, and that it was all in my head. When spring began to dawn, I was finally able to get out of my micro-habitat to get some fresh air and witness the appearance of nature, its shimmering colours and Master Kuratchi, who was communing naked with the landscape, practising his meditative exercises to the rhythm of the sunrise. I approached him to introduce myself, to ask him what he was doing so close to me in such an expanse? He replied that he was my Jiminy Cricket, and that he had been dropped off at my side by a higher power. I thought that was funny and cheeky, so I decided to end my journey with him, and we spent a good month wandering the banks of the Gandaki. As we parted, I felt an indescribable sense of inner peace, so I thought I'd ask him if he would bless this season's shoes with his body, to bring you perpetual joy and delight. Every foot of every shoe was kissed by Master Kuratchi's fleshy lips. If you've noticed that you're walking more gracefully, it's certainly thanks to him.
And if you want to add a little zing and lime to your life, here's something to delight you: