When someone tweets about “the most comfortable heels ever,” I pay attention.

This is “Ramona” by Söfft, which latter sounds like one of those goofy Web 2.0 names but apparently actually dates back to 1927. It’s a label of H. H. Brown, which also produces a line called “Børn.” Go figure.

Ramona stands 3.5 inches tall, including that not-too-conspicuous 5/8-inch platform. If white patent isn’t quite your thing, there’s a very shiny brown also. Zappos is asking $113.95 for either; the tweeter quoted bought, she said, two pair.

Earlier this week I ventured off into the Fashion Danger Zone by making some semi-inane (which, I guess, is therefore semi-ane) comment about socks with sandals, a combination about which I expressed grave doubts. And I wasn’t alone in so observing: serious socks, the sort that simultaneously keep your feet warm and ward off blisters, aren’t exactly staples of the hautest couture, or so seems to be the consensus of the readership.

That said, I popped open the March InStyle, and this was right there in “yourLook”:

“Loved the socks-with-sandals look on the spring runways. How can I pull it off?”

They did not, alas, say “Pull off the damn socks.” What they did say:

Try legwear in a neutral tone similar to your shoes. Stick to thin (sheer or opaque) fabrics with dainty patterns, like teeny dots, or skinny ribbing.

The next step: to find someone who actually tried it. And this is what I found:

On the one hand, anything that gives me a chance to wear my pretty summer shoe collection more than just a measly 3 months out of the year is a good thing in my book (hey, those things cost money!). And I have to admit, I’ve been a sock fan for a while now but rarely have a chance to wear anything more exciting than the white tennis-shoe variety. So it seems like two rights should make a right, right? (OK, that was confusing.) Plus, on the models, I can’t help but find the look kind of cute in a funky sort of way, so why not give it a try? Warm toes plus cute shoes is a total win!

But when I tried the look on in my bedroom I looked a lot more “5-year-old-who-dressed-herself” than “I-don’t-care-what-you-think-chic” and the BF thought I’d gone insane. So after consulting my mags once again, I realize that while it may look cute on the models, so does the other crazy stuff they have on — stuff that would make me look like I’d just broken out of a mental institution. There’s also the little fact that I live in NYC and socks are probably not going to be nearly enough toe coverage when it comes time for my morning sprint to the subway. And perhaps the greatest deterrent of all to me is that age old fashion rule that socks and sandals are mortal enemies — I know we’re supposed to be breaking the mold, but somehow it just seems blasphemous!

Yeah, I know: the beatings will continue while the equine remains deceased. Now you know the secret to blog longevity.

One of the categories around here is called “Dyssynergy,” which is intended to occupy the opposite pole from actual synergy: the whole is decidedly less than the sum of its parts. While clearly there are plenty of posts in that category that don’t precisely mesh with that definition — you try fitting 14,500 posts into fewer than 60 categories — once in a while something comes up that just seems to fit perfectly.

This particular example comes from Prada’s Autumn 2010/Winter 2011 presentation. I think very highly of this shoe, delightfully insubstantial as it is, and I suspect that the tights (I’m assuming they’re tights and not actual socks, though it’s hard to tell from this picture, or, for that matter, from this one) are quite nice in their own way, but the combination of the two comes off as somewhere between “yawn” and “meh.” It’s the proportioning, I think: you wear a little nothing of a shoe, you need hosiery just this side of gossamer, or none at all, while a serious sock demands a substantial shoe.

Then again, it’s not like Prada is paying me to make these fine judgment calls, so as always, your mileage may vary.

Addendum: “So wrong,” says Lynn.

You might call this a tempest in a B-cup, but maybe you shouldn’t. Russian president Dmitry Medvedev was invited to the Élysée Palace, and the Sarkozys dressed for the occasion. It took about thirty seconds for everyone to note that there couldn’t possibly be room under Carla Bruni-Sarkozy’s form-fitting Roland Mouret gown for anything resembling a brassiere, which precipitated a minor scandal among the chattering classes.

Persuaded as I am that to show you (almost) everything without actually letting you see anything is not at all an unreasonable desideratum for women’s fashions, I tend to take Mme. Bruni-Sarkozy’s side; there will always be the tut-tutting, or something similar, from the Nipple Patrol, but I have a feeling that she was motivated more by “What a lovely dress!” than by “Let’s give everybody a look at the girls.” I mean, it’s not like she’s sporting cleavage or anything. And besides, as Hannah Betts notes in the Times, “in the brouhaha over Carla’s bralessness, no one has remarked that she doubtless also went knickerless.”

Meanwhile, on this side of the pond, I think it’s probably safe to say that you’ll never see Michelle Obama in one of these.

The artist currently known as Dawn Summers reveals a deep, dark secret about women’s-wear storefronts:

A few years ago, my friend Lola and I went into an Anne Klein and we discovered that the stores basically paste clothes to the mannequins and then pin them shut in ways no human being would ever do, except in movies about the future where everyone is wearing form fitting jumpsuits.

Or maybe in Mannequin, since presumably Kim Cattrall didn’t worry about such things.

Then again, once your Life Clock turns black, it presumably doesn’t matter anymore.

Tom T. Hall, from “Ballad of Forty Dollars,” 1968:

Well, that must be the widow in the car
And would you take a look at that
That sure is a pretty dress
You know some women do look good in black

The gravedigger was just thinking out loud, of course, and anyway, it’s probably a safe bet the widow wasn’t trying to attract attention to herself. Forty years and odd later, that’s probably still true of the widow, but maybe not so much for the rest of the funeral party:

I was then struck by the dress of the young female mourners. And I really don’t mean this in a “tsk, tsk” kind of way, but they were not dressed well. Most of the girls looked like they were on their way to a prom or Spring formal. Some knew enough to wear black, but the outfits they wore were sleeveless and halfway up the thigh, while their heels were strappy and “sexy.” There were some who actually sported ensembles that were backless. This was in stark contrast to the men at the funeral who were mostly in their military dress.

Naturally, these girls meant no offense, but they simply have not been taught how to dress for such an occasion. It is as if the only look they’ve been taught is “sexy, sexy, sexy.” It’s sad, really. It’s one thing for a girl to know how to dress to attract a suitor or “turn on” her husband, but you know things just aren’t right when certain people don’t know how or when to turn it off.

So I betook myself to a search engine, keyed “what do I wear to a funeral,” and found this:

If you want to be traditional, go with a black suit, either skirt or pants. Otherwise, the following options are recommended. If it is summer, choose a black cocktail dress that is plain and not too short or low-cut. For winter, wear a black skirt and black sweater or a long-sleeved black dress (again, not too short). Make sure to wear close-toed shoes! If you want to mix it up a little, get a hat, such as a wide brimmed black hat. Don’t wear a trucker hat or other casual hat! If you are unsure in this department, look at some pictures of Queen Elizabeth II, or any other female member of the English Royal Family at a funeral. They have the basic idea.

Guys, needless to say, have fewer choices to make, but when is that not the case?

I’m inclined to be a little more forgiving, since presumably the young ladies in question were friends of the widow, who is described elsewhere in the piece as “painfully young,” and it’s likely few of them have ever had a reason to dress themselves for a funeral before. Perhaps some were not in a position to buy something new. The thing to remember, and this applies to all of us of whatever age, is that we are not the center of attention and we are to comport ourselves accordingly.

I might think otherwise if they’re burying me, but at that point, what I think isn’t likely to make a whole lot of difference.

No way was I going to let these go by without some sort of remark. Yes, these are exactly what they appear to be: blue suede shoes, from ASOS in the UK. “Primavera” (which is a nice, spring-y name, in fact literally so) is tall: 14.5 cm, but with a 3-cm platform beneath, so technically you teeter only about 3¾ inches, making them suitable for most activities not involving burning a house or stealing a car. The price is a modest £65, and ShoeperWoman thinks it’s definitely one for the money:

I love everything about these shoes: the colour is the obvious attraction (and hey, I don’t believe I currently own a pair of shoes in this particular shade of blue!), but the shape is also a draw for me, because although the platform is large, the heel has a slight curve to it, and the toe is fairly pointed, making these look a little less clumpy than many other platform designs.

And if you remember from last spring, “women don’t buy enough blue shoes.”

A reader complains to the Consumerist:

To further add to the Target madness, they have decided to stop selling Men’s shoes and sandals in size 13. The largest size carried in store now is size 12. After checking with team members, there were no pegs, nor DPCI (Target sku numbers) for anything in size 13. They are available online, but for a shipping fee of course. As a man with large feet, I feel discriminated against! Shall I call the ACLU?

You might as well call Fats Waller at this point.

As a man with larger feet — I wear a 14 — I feel for the guy, but being unable to fit into Target’s $29.98 specials really doesn’t break my heart. (Rule: Buy fewer but better shoes.)

Then there’s the band Size 14: “Gonna pick up some beer, stay at home, and stare at my Claire Danes poster.” Does this sound like a Target shopper to you?

With an actual illustration this time around, yet. Fug Girl Heather says of Lindsay Lohan’s dress here:

This is half of a cute dress, and half of what the witches wear in Macbeth On Ice.

Admittedly, this is supposed to be Contemporary Fashion, where occasionally fair is foul and foul is fair, but geez. Is this one of the pieces La Lohan designed for Emanuel Ungaro? I don’t remember it from the Spring 2010 collection — or it could be simply that the brain is trying to protect itself from damage. Your call. “At least this is not leggings,” says Heather.

(More photos of this same garb here. And is that a bruise on her leg?)

Sara Blakely, inventor of Spanx, explains why she’s started making men’s garments:

Men’s undershirts have been underperforming for as long as they’ve been around, with stretched out necks and bulky cuts that do nothing for the male physique. The men in my life (and in Hollywood) have been asking me to make Spanx for men for years, so I was inspired to create comfortable and powerful undershirts that provide instant gratification without gimmicks.

Well, I suppose it’s a hell of a lot better than wife-beaters, which still hold the record for Worst-Named Garment.

As with Snuggies, there will inevitably be competition. I blame Steve Carell.

(A wave of the sleeve to the Left Coast Cowboy.)

In the beginning there was the Snuggie, and it was good. Or at least it was warm. Sort of. If you happened to be on a pub crawl in a Snuggie, you were probably warmed more by the ethanol than by the fabric.

Inevitably, there would be knockoffs of the Snuggie. There exists, for instance, something called the HoodieFootie, which stretches the concept about as far as it can go.

But the bottom line, I think, remains unchanged:

I figure every Snuggie defender from Taunton to Tacoma will be here shortly.

(Blame this on Lisa.)

Though that seems a secondary function, really:

“Must be worn by a siren,” says SondraK.

(Hat tip: Jeffro.)

The first time I saw this, it set off my Misandry Alert: “Is this sexist or what?”

After a second look, I’m not so sure. I mean, if that young fellow is being oppressed, he certainly seems to be enjoying himself. Although we can’t tell for sure what’s going on outside the frame, I think it’s a safe bet that she’s not actually standing on his head. And it’s not like he’s looking up her skirt, either.

Compared to the general run of fashion advertising, this is a bright spot, says the intrepid correspondent for ShoeBlog:

I am weary of the pouting, leggy girl, wearing nothing more than lingerie, heels and a come hither look, sitting or laying on a sofa/chair, with soft focus. Virtually every shoe, handbag, fragrance, lingerie, and cosmetic advertisement features at least three of these components. Snore.

The shoe, incidentally, is from Giuseppe Zanotti’s Spring 2010 collection. I have a basic philosophical disagreement with stuff like this — boots, to me, imply protection, utterly contradicted by the open toe — but it does seem to satisfy one of my criteria for interesting footwear, which is “Can I imagine someone wearing this to XO, assuming XO were still open?” (Snarkists who question my urban-hipster credentials, and that should include all of you, are directed here.)

Received in the mail:

My name is Lia Betourney and I am working in conjunction with the American Red Cross to raise money for the Haiti earthquake victims. As you know, the Haitians are in desperate need of food, water and clothes. As I looked through my closet, I saw potential for a really amazing and fun way to raise money. That’s how I came up with Haiti Fashionista, a consignment sale where 100% of the proceeds will go to the American Red Cross. This event will take place at the Hilton Garden Inn Oklahoma City North/Quail Springs from February 20th-21st, 2010. We are looking for any items that can be donated in the form of gently worn clothing, shoes and accessories that can be sold to the general public. All the donated items will be sold at the consignment sale and hand picked items that are in great condition and fashionable will be used for the fashion show. Later these items will be auctioned off as full outfits.

I doubt anyone would want anything out of my closet, unless they’re running short of tarp (as opposed to TARP), but I’m happy to pass this along.

Dates: February 20th and 21st
Time: Saturday 5:00pm for the Consignment Sale and 8:00 for the Fashion Show; Sunday: 10:00am-3:00pm Consignment Sale
Venue: Hilton Garden Inn Oklahoma City North/Quail Springs, 3201 NW 137th St, Oklahoma City, OK 73134

The organizers have a Facebook page with more information.

The ShoeperWoman recalls:

When I was a child, we used to play a game: you’d take a piece of paper, and fold it into a shape a little bit like the embellishment on the front of these shoes — how, I don’t remember. On the outside, you’d write numbers, and on the inside would be… actually, I’ve long since forgotten the kind of thing you’d write on the inside, except that I think it had something to do with telling people’s “fortunes”, and there was some complicated means by which these “fortunes” would be revealed. Does anyone have even the slightest idea what I’m talking about here?

Ah, yes, the cootie-catcher. Trini made one for me once.

It’s a bit odd to see this sort of origami on a shoe, but Beatrice Ong managed to capture some of its spirit, formalized yet goofy, on this “Kami” flat and on “Oru,” a version with a 12.5-cm heel. The upper is suede, the cootie-catcher leather; it seems a little more orange than red to me, but I’ve been looking at snow all day and my white balance is off. These were over $400 new and are being closed out; apparently it takes more than three people to get the joke, and you’ll never catch Trini in five-inch heels.

“I hate fashion,” says Tanya Gold in the Guardian; I try to defend (some of) it.

What’s worse than a shoe with a gun for a heel? Right: a hoof with a gun for a heel.

This design comes from Iris Schieferstein, who calls it, with disarming simplicity, “Gun Hoof.”

I suppose this is the point where we discover if there’s something Lady Gaga won’t wear.

(Forwarded by a reader who shall remain anonymous for his own safety.)

It has finally come to this:

And by “finally,” I mean several months ago:

If there was any doubt that Twitter is a massive, global cultural phenomenon, we bring you: Twitter “Stalkings”, now available on Etsy.

Tel Aviv-based Gabby Nathan of TattooSocks.com tells us several hundred pairs have been snapped up since the company started selling the $13-$23 (shipping not included) nylons last August.

I’m guessing there are no takers for a Fail Whale design.

The “first time,” in this context, was 1964, when Rudi Gernreich introduced something called the “monokini,” which, you might infer from the name, was approximately half of a bikini. (“Bikini,” Steve Rushin once explained in a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, was a composite of “bi,” meaning “two,” and “kini,” meaning “square inches of Lycra.”)

Gernreich, it appears, was about four and a half decades before his time, because Victoria’s Secret, not a name you’d normally associate with over-the-top fashion, has come up with something much the same, though they’re calling it simply a “topless bikini”.

VS does in fact provide a bandeau top for this, um, apparatus, though it’s detachable.

If your next question is “Couldn’t you have put up a picture of Gernreich’s swimsuit being worn by an actual person?” the answer is “Yes, but I’d already assembled this graphic.” I will, however, refer you to Jeff Weinstein, who has a shot of Peggy Moffitt wearing the original monokini in a color I’d call None More Black.

I need hardly point out that neither of these garments, despite their billing, is likely to be particularly good for actually swimming.

Often as not, the shoes reviewed here fall into the general category of “None of the actual readership would wear these, but what the hell.” Once in a while, though, I happen upon a pair that gets the strongest possible form of endorsement from a reader: she bought it.

This is “Paddie,” from Clarks’ Pr!vo (that’s apparently the way they spell it) label, and these are some of the selling points:

Shock-absorbing Soleassage™ insole features textured bumps for a massage effect.

Lightweight EVA midsole with durable rubber outsole for added traction.

Cement construction ensures increased flexibility without twisting.

You want to be careful how you enunciate “Soleassage.” And “cement construction” gave me a turn, until I realized that all it meant was that the sole is glued in place. Then again, you probably have a pair of shoes that feel like cement, or, more properly, concrete.

Fillyjonk says of “Paddie”:

I would have liked the heels to be a bit higher — it’s nice to have an inch or so of extra height when you are teaching and such — but these were the nicest looking and best-fitting shoes the store had.

Dressy, but not too dressy. And at under $100, not too expensive, either.

Akaky Bashmachkin is in receipt of boxer shorts with some sort of camouflage pattern, and while he’s certainly grateful, he’s also somewhat puzzled:

I must tell you now that I regard the sudden militarization of my underwear drawer with no small degree of trepidation. I do not know right now what my policy should be in the event these new boxers attempt to extend their control from the underwear drawer to the sock drawer or, worse yet, should they attempt a violent overthrow of my tee-shirt drawer, which may lead to a destabilization of the world underwear order and the possibility of a conflict hitherto unheard of in the annals of underwear. Appeasement does not appear to be the right policy; we all know what ultimately happens to appeasing powers when they passively face an aggressor; but nothing in the boxers’ current behavior suggests that there is any immediate cause for alarm. There is merely a vague disquiet settling over this particular chest of drawers, a troubling disquiet similar to the psychic tension that haunted Europe in the years between 1933 and 1936.

I must note here that I own garments of this sort in white, grey, black, and blue, and they seem to coexist just fine. (White, I note in passing, is a minority.)

Still, there’s something vaguely pointless about this particular pattern:

The purpose of camouflage is, as I understand it, is concealment from people who are naturally, politically, or personally hostile to you. To achieve this admirable circumstance, nature and the world’s militaries do their best to blend into their natural surroundings. Given that underwear’s natural surroundings are under your trousers, hence the origins of the word underwear, the whole point of camouflaged boxer shorts would seem an exercise in inutility, if not just plain dumb. The wearer, of course, might choose to make use of the boxers’ camouflage effect by wearing the shorts on the outside of their pants, but this will cause chafing after a while, especially on a hot day, and the practice does tend to lead to political and social upheaval in Central America, a tragic and for most part unforeseen consequence that the American political philosopher Allen Konigsberg first pointed out in the early 1970’s.

The difficulty in the banana republic in question, however, was not so much with the design, such as it is, as with the regime’s demand that the citizens change their underwear every half hour.

Yet another discovery from the Zappos.com Map:

You’re looking at “Erie” by Romantic Soles, and this is the pitch for the line:

Young, stylish, sophisticated, comfy, and affordable. These words are not commonly used in the same sentence, let alone featured in the same shoe. Romantic Soles has turned something that people usually only dream of into a reality. Amazingly, Romantic Soles manages to provide the latest junior fashions while still offering unbeatable comfort. In today’s world, perception is king. Young people no longer have to sacrifice comfort for style. Every shoe couples a comfort-oriented sole with a fashionable upper — and a hint of sass. It is hard not to develop a romantic love affair with every single pair!

Which left me wondering: when does a woman become too old to wear something like this? Does it reek of “prom shoe”? (Would the blue and black versions carry the same baggage?)

“Erie” sells for a modest $65.

Zappos now has its own version of Monopoly^®:

It’s a fundraiser for the Nevada Childhood Cancer Foundation. Various Zappos brands occupy the squares; instead of houses and hotels, you have Wish Lists and Shopping Carts.

I can’t help but wonder who’s on the very first square past Go, which in the original game was the decidedly low-rent Mediterranean Avenue.

So I’m looking at Chanel’s Spring 2010 collection, about which the correspondent for style.com reports:

[T]he Chanel country coquettes managed to flirt their way around every rustic reference in Karl Lagerfeld’s extensive repertoire of craft-y couture skills, from hopsack to basket weave and cane work to aprons, dirndls, peasant-y poppy prints, and fantastic wooden double-C clogs. It was a bumper harvest of everything that is chicly tattered, beribboned, and gloriously made about Chanel, as well as the season’s sole experience to make the anxiety and earnestness around fashion evaporate, to make it seem like fantastic fun again.

Mostly, though, they looked appallingly young, although I suspect this is de rigueur for the contemporary runway, which seems to demand an endless supply of twelve-year-olds of all ages.

If twelve seems awfully Nabokovian to you, you’re not alone:

What I found remarkable was how successful the collection was in merging the extreme frothiness of Lolita with signature Chanel textured bouclés. It really does add an unexpected youthfulness to otherwise conservative materials.

But no, this is not Humbert’s Lo. Not precisely, anyway:

Although “Lolita” is a reference to Vladimir Nabokov’s famous novel, and Lolita fashion is often worn by teens, most followers of the style do not consider it overtly sexual. Adherents present themselves as Victorian children or baby dolls and prefer to look “cute” rather than “sexy”. Many Lolitas claim that the term “Lolita” doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with sex at all.

And besides, this particular, um, school seems to have originated in Japan, where there’s a premium on looking like you’re nowhere near ready for Lastday in Logan’s Run.

Still, I admit I found the name a trifle offputting when I first heard it. I blame Clare Quilty.

“Ooh, new nail polish! What’s that color called?”

“Dickweed.”

“Well, screw you too. Now what’s the name of that color?”

“Like I said: Dickweed.”

(Developed by Bleach Black.)

The LED array on this dress is not just decorative. In fact, it’s designed to indicate the carbon dioxide levels in the immediate vicinity of the wearer:

A wonderful collaboration between diffus.dk, Alexandra Institute, The Danish Design School and embroidery company Forster Rohner has resulted in this beautifully-detailed haute-tech dress fit for the runway.

The CO₂ dress monitors the CO₂ levels in a given environment and visualizes the data in real time with a flickering of light patterns. The LEDs are carefully stitched into the lovely embroidery of the dress.

And Popgadget pours it on:

I wonder if the decision to make the dress a charcoal gray [was] a purposeful one made by the collaborators to symbolize our declining air quality.

Yeah, because you can just see all that CO₂ in the air.

The very same technology that gave us the Headless Woman at the State Fair now brings us, um, “invisible shoes”:

Refinery 29’s Connie Wang explains, to the extent that this can be explained:

Native to Sao Paulo, Brazil, shoe-lady Andreia Chaves derives inspiration from the chaos and structure of her hometown, and visual puns from the likes of Maison Martin Margiela, Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto, and Issey Miyake. What this means in plainsmen terms is this: These are shoes that will freak people out. Yes, we know that her “invisible shoe” is basically a wedge made of mirrors, and looks about as comfortable as the inside of Steve Buscemi’s mouth, but there’s really nothing that says “I’m a fashionista” like showing up at a party with your feet gone AWOL.

I have a feeling the Style Rookie would wear these in a minute, probably with Miu Miu.

(Via the Fug Girls.)

Dior’s Addict fragrance, which has scored 65 stars from thirteen Amazon.com reviewers — you can’t do better than that — is officially described this way:

Dior Addict indulges the senses with sumptuous silk tree flower, voluptuous night queen flower, and luscious bourbon vanilla combined with sandalwood and tonka bean to evoke a feeling of passion in the boldly sexy woman who wears it.

A description more informal yet more evocative:

[M]andarin, jasmine, bergamot, tuberose, gardenia, Bulgarian rose, Bourbon vanilla, sandalwood, musk. The nose is Thierry Wasser (ha! I’m guessing he doesn’t brag about it). Um, okay, that’s a fancypants list of notes for something so cheerfully airheaded. It paints a picture of an evening spent at the carnival set up in the parking lot at Sears in the 1970s, when I was fifteen and wearing tube tops with overalls to flirt with the carnies. Redolent of Marlboro light, cotton candy, tilt-a-whirls, the Himalaya (“barracccuuuudaa!”), and maybe a rum and coke washed down in the GTO beforehand. When I put this on, I feel my IQ drop 30 points, but my boobs are perkier.

Which, if you think about it, is more than you wanted to know, but simultaneously exactly what you wanted to know.

Few of us word-jugglers ever reach such heady heights.

I somehow fail to grasp what Vivienne Westwood is trying to do here:

For the straps, it’s simple: if one strap is good, two must be better, and so forth. (Among shoes displayed in these pages, the record is seventeen.)

But what’s with those, um, bumps up front? They seem to trouble ShoeperWoman:

The, um, “toe ridges”, if that’s the right expression, are a big feature of the [Autumn/Winter] 09 collection, and, well, “hate” is a very strong word, so let’s just say they make all of the shoes look like they were two sizes too small for their owner, who nevertheless decided to wear them anyway, to the point where the leather started to mold to their toes.

Worse than that: there’s only space for four toes.

Like I said, I have no idea what Vivienne Westwood is doing here, but if Homer Simpson ever decides to crossdress, these are his red pumps, provided of course he can come up with £330.

You know, it’s really not absolutely necessary to wear some monstrously high heel, even if (1) you’re an actress, (2) you’re at a Hollywood premiere, and (3) you’re known for, among other things, a better-than-decent pair of gams.

And I’m not about to demand an explanation from Susan Sarandon, either:

[Sarandon] looked glowing as she attended the U.S. premiere of The Lovely Bones at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood.

But, after wearing towering heels at the world opening in London last month, she slipped on a pair of comfy blue flats.

It had the unfortunate effect of making the 5ft 7in actress appear a little flat-footed and failed to match the rest of her sexy-at-63 look.

Well, they’re not exactly ballet flats, which are considered semi-trendy these days, but maybe you have to be Sofia Coppola to pull that off. Me, I might grumble about the color — it doesn’t really go with the dress — but I would argue that at this age, if you don’t do as you damn well please, there’s something seriously wrong.

(Via Fark.)