Martyn jaunts seemingly straight from Mexico to NYC to deal with the apartment of Jimmy Choo founder Tamara Mellon. Did I say apartment, because I meant mall compound of Tamara Mellon. The patio could basically hold every New York apartment I've ever lived in seven times.
Martyn decides to display the shoes from the ladies Choo campaign as pieces of art -- and rightly so -- they're covered in solid gold (which is now all over Martyn's fingers). So he gets some acrylic boxes made and . . . .
Please G-d, get in there. . .
I could watch the scene with Martyn trying to put the box over the shoe for hours and hours. It is perhaps a great metaphor for some days in life. Sometimes you in the sex pit with Tamara Mellon -- and some days the 10 cent acrylic shoe shadowbox you bought doesn't come in in the right size.
In the end Martyn gets the properly sized boxes and Tamara gets the pleasure of looking upon her Midas touched shoes and bags before wandering to her veranda and laughing at what a giant success she is. Frankly I'd just display them on the veranda to really show the sun who is boss. Look upon the shinny greatness that is my Marilyn Minter collabo, sun! What now?
Sweet Nathan is barely with us this week, except to exchange chairs with Mary. Those black, French armchairs with the stencil back are worth a life servitude for me. As a matter of fact if you'll excuse me I've got to get to chain gang detail now. . .
What did you guys think? Were the floors too Willy Wonka? Did you need an everlasting gobstopper to calm you down after? Do these snozberries taste like snozberries? Who's your favorite decorator? Why don't you tweet about it?