le rouge

Red cheongsam, 2001.

Red and I, we have a relationship. I love Red. I have had very Red hair, berry Red lips, and now, cherry Red pants. When furnishing my apartment, I almost bought a Red chaise. (They were out of stock.) I long to sport Red nails, but one place Red does not seem to belong is on my hands. I waited a month for a Red car instead of driving an in-stock color off the lot, wear Red shoes against all fashion advice, and I contrive to wear a wedding gown that incorporates Red beadwork into the miles of white taffeta on which I am also going to insist.

"This is red red, and this is orange red.
The wrong one and I will end up looking like a hooker. Or a teacher!"
- Libby, Gilmore Girls

I love Red, but Red does not always love me back. When love is unrequited, only the weak walk away without putting up a fight. Case in point: Red heels from Skechers. If a place is renowned for its quasi-athletic shoe designs, chances are, the cutest-looking party shoes are going to be a little uncomfortable, and possibly a little silly-looking.

I suffer gladly:

Redder than red hair. It cost a lot. I loved it:

Shmaybe ... red lips:

Yes, yes, yes! Red (and some others) jacket, Zhongshan 2001:

The piece de resistance: me new Red pants. Sweetheart cut Old Navys, thoughtfully scooped up by Vickie. I've coveted Red pants since, oh, birth. [Pic to come.]