A designer, a contractor, passion and shoes.


Kitchensync and The Paul let the Happy Feet Meet

By the Paul

Kelly Morisseau and I talk from time to time, both of us seem to have found our place in the big picture of life and I consider her a friend. There is no denying her talent and passion for the business of design and remodeling, Kelly is what a many designers aspire to be, she is smart, funny and talented, the real deal, with Kelly you get the dream job you envisioned and have fun while the project is underway. Plus, Kelly has style!

Kelly and I share something else besides a love of our craft, we are Shoobooty, we have cool Kicks. Yep, Kicks.

Kelly is fresh back from the Big Apple and when I read her latest blog post all I could say is “Yo, those kicks are cap girl”, and Kelly who is a hip chick in all ways of the world knows a profound compliment from the get.

But wait Johnny, there’s more!

What if The Paul’s Magic Boots met The Kelly’s Magic shoes?

So here on RC the scruffy and comfortable workingman’s boots and the sophisticated Scene Girl party goers get the photo spotlight. If you understand, well, you understand, for everyone else, “bonne chance” and enjoy your Doc Martins.

How my 15 minutes of fame went straight to my…shoes

By Kelly Morisseau

Kelly's Killer Kicks
The Paul's Magic Boots
The Paul's Magic Boots

Let me tell you a story about a man named Jed  woman named Kelly who was stressing on what to wear to New York. She was positive what served as business casual and dressy in New York was night and day from what she’d wear in California.

So she purchased a pair of sky-scraping shoes to bolster her confidence. Chanel, no less. She was determined that if Brizo and Jason Wu were kind enough to invite her to see Brizo’s latest designs and attend Mr. Wu’s fashion show, she’d do her very best to rise to the occasion (approximately 4”).

The shoes were friendly at first. Slight French accent, tall enough for her to wonder how people saw things from such a great height, and surprisingly comfortable. Like Dumbo with his feather, her confidence grew until she felt she could really could leap tall buildings in a killer slip on icy NY streets single bound.

“Don’ worr-ee zat you’ve nev-air worn us before,” the shoes promised. “We are Chanel. Pas un problème.” (No problem.)She didn’t expect to wear them 10 full hours from a limo to a fashion show, to a private cocktail party where she met Jason, to slush-lined streets and yellow cabs of the Theatre District, and to finally dining at Chez Josephine. The shoes took it as their due when the owner of the restaurant, Josephine Baker’s son, Jean-Claude, took her hands and kissed her soundly on both cheeks when she thanked him in French for a dinner merveilleux.

And at the end of the day, there wasn’t a single blister or rub spot – only the pressure of balancing on the balls of her feet for so long.

The shoes sniffed. “Why would zere be?”

Then, the very next day, the shoes discovered they were featured front row at the fashion show. Or, so they believed. Pictures showed up here, and here, and here, and below in the final shot of the designer on the runway.

The Paul relaxing before the fashion show.

Click to go to news article where there is no  mention of ze shoes. Hear that, shoes?( Photo credit: NY Mag. Left shoe offers a urbane “Salut!” to M’sieur Wu’s shoes. Right shoe sobs in despair off-camera.)

It allegedly went downhill from there:

“But, but…his show ees so élégant, ‘is dresses and fabrics and couleur! We should ‘ave been on the runway!”

“You were. Get over it. It’s not always about you. Besides, you’re used to being élé–, er, elegant. I’m not.”

“Ah, zees Dumbo reference is less about ze feathair than ze Dum–”

“Oh, shut up.”

“We make you famous; zees is ‘ow you repay us?”

“But I’m not even in the shots! And stop looking so smug. You need to thank the lovely folks at Brizo who invited us and whose collaboration made it all possible.”

“But of course. Give us ze cellphone.”

“Hah. I turn my back and you’ll be texting Jason Wu. Forget it. I doubt he speaks French, and besides, there’s no accented è on a Blackberry.” ***

A pause, then, “D’accord. Merci de rien.” (Fine. Thanks for nothing.)

“Are you…sulking?”

The shoes no longer speak to Kelly. They’re back in the closet, muttering about a revolution and “zere” people. Kelly’s wearing fuzzy slippers and daydreaming about design.

Fame can be so fleeting, non?
***Shhh. I know. Don’t encourage them. I don’t actually own a Blackberry.


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