WORK, WORK, WORK...THEN CAPRI
It's said that Lulu Guinness only wears her own bags and mostly her own shoes. Except for thongs and some very beloved old riding boots; it's the same for me...until possibly Capri.
Looking at Jackie O gazing at the local sandals in the early 70s, reminds me of just what it feels like to be on holidays here. When in Rome, if you know what I mean? I mean white pants make sense here. And no bra at all and cold white wine with breakfast.
So I might sneak into the traditional cobblers and get some of those wafer soled Capri sandals that actually make my big toe look like its wearing a gold plated g-string! Or I might dig around in my bag for the Cox version. In bright pink to match the celadon sky.
Everything they say about Capri in summer is true. It's glamour at a heady level. I keep half expecting Jude Law to be thrown to my sandal clad feet, ejected from a night club for being too handsome! Or my husband James to suddenly start sporting a pencil moustache after too many jugs of white sangria. I will NOT be wearing cotton pants cropped mid calf. Too Gidget. Or a cotton head skarf. Too Slim Aarons. I think my nose is a touch too sun burnt or I am blushing perpetually. Blame the Italian sun. But no, this is not boasting. I usually "enjoy" Italy at a distance, rushing from the fair to the factory to the finery of a three star hotel. And... It cannot be work all the goddamn time and besides this IS research. I even wear my own shoes in the pool, but only after midnight in a Halston halter dress looking for Jude!
"Damn I wish Sophie Cox was available in 1970"
"Up Pompeii Darling!"