Jill sashayed into the breakfast hall and it was the first time I’d laughed in 3 days. She’d chopped at least 10 inches off the hem of her robe and modified it into a cute, albeit itchy, brown shift with bell sleeves, and worn back with her Balenicaga gladiators she’d morphed into a sexy extra from Friar Fuck (Me up the Ass). Imelda on the other had was struggling, on arrival we’d been required to check all our clothing and accessories and were handed these gruesome and shapeless robes. Without a Fendi corset belt or Yum Yum for alterations I had to fend for myself. Like most cats backed into a corner I came out scratching. On day two I defiantly clomped my way through a 12 km Alpine walk in my new Vuitton platform wedges. Take that, soul destroying, itchy, poo coloured conformity!
“You’re late. Breakfast’s over” I said. Doing a twirl that would have shamed even ANTM’s Twirling Twins she asked, “You like?” I laughed, suddenly realizing that silent laughing gave me the appearance of a horse snapping at flies, I covered my mouth.
Today I’d decided we’d have a poke around the mortification room. I’d read in the brochure that for an extra 50 euro one of the Friars would flagellate you until you achieved an altered state of conscience. If a spiritual awakening wasn’t achieved, you’d get your money back. Sounded peachy. They had a ‘two for the price of one’ special that I couldn’t pass up, and after attacking an elderly guest for eating her macramé, Jill needed to give the paste eating freaks in crafts room a wide berth.
Crunching our way across the pebbled courtyard, I noticed two guests floating out of the mortification room. These girls had achieved nirvana. As they got closer I realized that one was pretty a bionda and the other was a pretty castana. I was clocking their sartorial ingenuity (they’d used the robe’s ropes to create cute Grecian inspired dresses) when I noticed their shoes. The bionda was wearing a royal blue silk satin slide with embroidered vamp and the castana was wearing a dark brown paneled bootie with stitch detailing.
My inner light told me to stop them to find out who designed their shoes but the biting ZAP on my ankle reminded me ‘silence is golden’. Shooting Jill an angry look she just waved the remote as if to say “try me”. Ha.
The poor Friar could have banged away on The Despot for days. Until I settled the issue of shoes there was no chance of Imelda achieving any kind of awakening, spiritual or otherwise. Jill was a different story the mortification had left her as weak as a kitten so I rushed her back to her room for a siesta. For good measure I slipped her a cheeky Quaalude. Taking advantage of her woozy state of enlightenment I snatched the remote and made like a banana.
I searched the pool, the bar, and the craft room until I found my mystery guests dancing alone in the disco with no music. After 3 day of silence a deluge of nonsensical words just came tumbling out of my mouth.
Wildly shaking her head, the pretty castana said “SHHH, not here”, grabbing my hands they shuffled me into the women’s bathrooms. HELLO!
“Imelda” said the bionda “we’ve come to rescue you”. “Rescue me from what?” I replied. “From the drudgery of silence and brown heshian” they replied in unison. I gave praise to the little baby Jesus in his Christmas crib…now that’s what I call a state of enlightenment.
The Friars could keep my panty girdles but there was no chance that I was leaving behind my shoes, so we doubled back to my cell to collect them. I could hear Jill snoring (the luudes have that effect) in the next room and experienced a momentary pang of guilt. She had only been trying to help so I reasoned that it was only fair she should come with us.
It suddenly dawned on me that in the hustle to blow out of the monastery I hadn’t asked these women who they were. Jill was slowly coming to and the shit was about to hit the fan.
Sensing my unease the bionda turned around and asked “You have no idea who we are, do you?”. I grimaced and sheepishly replied “No”. They both laughed. The castana who was driving said “Imelda, I’m Natalia Barbieri and this is my best friend and business partner, Jennifer Portman”. Praying that they weren’t Albanian people smugglers I asked “and what business is it that you do?”
“We design luxury women’s shoes,” they sang. My heart skipped a beat. “You’re shitting The Despot aren’t you? You mean to tell me that I’ve been sprung by a couple of cobblers?”. Oh the predictability. Natalia declared “Imelda we’re not just ANY cobblers, were Bionda Castana (Milano) and we’ve just won accessories division of Vogue Italia’s ‘Who’s on Next’ competition”. “Tied” I corrected, “You tied with Chrissie Morris for the award and I know who you are, just not what you look like”. Then came my moment of enlightenment, Bionda Castana translates from Italian into one blonde (Jennifer) and one brunette (Natalia).
By the time we’d reached their studio Jill had come right. A short explanation of who, what, where and Imelda’s promise to buy her Karl Largerfeld (Yup, that’s how filthy rich I am) and we were good.
Once inside the girls regaled us with tales of meeting at university, Natalia’s stint working on the trading floor for a large investment bank, following their true path and how it’s taken them over 5 years to get their brand up and running. So serious were they about learning the art of shoe making that they both shadowed a skilled Milanese artisan.
When I asked them how they combined their opposing aesthetics Natalia responded “Some styles may be more classic whilst other may be may be edgier. But each design retains feminine elegance. At the end of the day we celebrate the foot and a heel’s ability to transform the leg”.
Jennifer followed on “We specialize in high-heels”. Can Imelda get an AMEN! “There is an emotional attachment a women enjoys when wearing a pair of high heels. She feels strong, empowered and desirable”. “Sista, you’re preaching to the converted. Did you know that Imelda is genetically unable to wear flat shoes?”
They both laughed and Jennifer asked if we’d like another drink. “Honey I could tap the keg but I need to get home as I’ve got a lot of despoting to catch up on, but I’ll have one more for the road”. Jill asked if I could spare another Luude....suuure!
I was feeling inspired and renewed when they told us “All materials, accessories, heels, lasts, soles are sourced and supplied by factories in Italy, so our product really is 100% Made in Italy”.
Using a restrained base colour palette of black, brown and beige they’ve incorporated statement colours like orange, gold and forest green to add subtle drama to the collection. Their approach to fabric mismatching is innovative and complements their timeless silhouettes. All the trim detailing is made by hand and they’ve given consideration to *cough cough* comfort, by carefully padding the inner of the shoe.
As we were leaving I told the girls should they ever be looking for some side work The Despot knows people who’d appreciate their ‘abstraction’ abilities. Jill and I sunk into the back seat of the car and let out a massive sigh of relief. I think we were both glad to be going home but it would take a couple of days for it all to sink in. Looking down at my gams I realized that the fucking tracker/zapper was still attached. “Excuse Me,” I said as I waved my chooky leg in her face. “I think it’s time to take this off”. Jill looked at me and said, “Not-a-fucking-chance”. Grinning I took the bottle of Quaalude's out of my purse and gave them a little shake, “I think this is what’s known as a Mexican stand-off”
