Fonzarelli- Metallic Chlorophyll
Select your size
Size Guide
The Googoone fits true to size.
| FR | CM | UK | US | IT |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 35 | 22 | 2.5 | 4 | 34 |
| 36 | 22.7 | 3.5 | 5 | 35 |
| 36.5 | 23 | 4 | 5.5 | 35.5 |
| 37 | 23.4 | 4 | 5.5 | 36 |
| 37.5 | 23.7 | 4.5 | 6 | 36.5 |
| 38 | 24 | 5 | 6.5 | 37 |
| 38.5 | 24.4 | 5.5 | 7 | 37.5 |
| 39 | 24.7 | 5.5 | 7.5 | 38 |
| 39.5 | 25 | 6 | 7.5 | 38.5 |
| 40 | 25.4 | 6.5 | 8 | 39 |
| 41 | 26 | 7.5 | 9 | 40 |
| 42 | 26.7 | 8 | 9.5 | 41 |
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• Heel Height: 7 cm
• Light green metallic nubuck
• Inner and outer sole Leather
• Fabrication: Spain
• La Fonzarelli fits true to size
Note: The leather may show irregularities.
THE TRUE STORY OF THE GERMAIMAINE
( and why you should tell your horse ! )
A few years ago, when the BX was still on the road, I had worked all summer at the Monoprix so that, at the start of the new school year, I could buy a membership at a Gymnase Club at the Mouton-Duvernet station, Paris 14. I was thrilled: I was going to be able to build a Jeannie Longo body, a six-pack like Bruce Lee's and shoulders like the Terminator. At the time, I was enrolled at the Sorbonne, where I was studying modern and ancient literature. In truth, I spent my time at the cinema on Rue des Écoles or in bookshops devoted to the seventh art, drooling over the encyclopedically reissued Cahiers du Cinéma.
Quand j'en avais terminé, je filais à la salle pour soulever de la fonte et m'observer dans le miroir, appréciant à quel point chacun de mes muscles se dessinait. J'enchaînais sur un hammam, puis sur des cours de kung-fu, car très tôt, j'ai su qu'il fallait que je me défende contre le mâle dominant, celui qui se croit tout permis : le Polanski, le Bruel, le Darmanin. J'aimais me projeter dans les airs et envoyer des high-kicks, imaginant que je les distribuais à ceux qui nous rendaient la vie si compliquée parfois. Et quand j'estimais avoir sué l'équivalent d'un seau à champagne, je partais me doucher et enchaînais avec une visite à mon boyfriend de l'époque.
He was so cute, so mims, so preciously charming. I'd met him through mutual friends from high school. He went to the Porte de Vanves school, in François-Villon. Unlike most of the people who went there, he was discreet and didn't pull any punches. He kept a low profile in all circumstances, but he knew how to fight and had demonstrated it by opposing a gypsy who was forcing himself on me, effectively sweeping him to the ground. The boyfriend's name was Anatol. I loved his big chestnut locks and the brown eyes of a beachcomber in Saint-Trop.
He came from a very modest single-parent family. They lived in a tower block at Pernety station. Despite their very limited means, I was invited to dinner every evening. His mother was very keen on this. I must say she was very welcoming. She adored me, she said. As you'd expect, the woman's name was Germaine. And as she didn't like her first name, she used to ask her close friends to call her Germaimaine, which I easily did, because it made me laugh. Germaimaine was a tall, short-haired blonde woman, a sort of Jean Seberg version of the Little Mermaid, who would clop as she sipped a cheap whisky bought at the local Félix Potin. And when she was as buttery as a kouign-amann, she became tactile and very funny, sending tender scuds to whoever came her way. She'd often hug me until I couldn't breathe, telling me I was her favorite and that if her Anatol ever had the bad idea of going elsewhere, she'd emasculate him herself with her teeth.
He swore he'd only dipped it in the Aegean. I offered myself to him, but was disillusioned as soon as the deed was done. The bastard had given me an STD the size of the former USSR. I was green. I couldn't hide it for long from Germaimaine, who managed to read the disappointment on my face crimson with pain and sadness. She took me in her arms one last time and kicked me out of her apartment, telling me that from now on I'd have to do without her, and obviously without Anatole, who didn't deserve to be with me anymore.
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