Let’s tell y’alls a story:

By now, most of you should be rather aware: I am indubitably quite the fan of red lips.

I went shopping last night and acquired two new lipsticks by Revlon, the irrefutable king of lipstick manufacturers. Acquired: deepest red wine colored Just Bitten lipstain called Midnight (I suppose because of its black cherry hue), and a deep but still true-ish red actually called Blackcherry. This brings my total collection of red lipsticks to 11 tubes, sticks, stains and pots.

{ Architecture of a Face/FOTD: Revlon Raisin Rage Super Lustrous lipstick layered under Yves Saint Laurent Rouge in 117. }

Some people may think this is incredibly excessive, but being under the count of 20, I think it’s a perfectly acceptable number. I liken it to a shoe or accessory collection: A lipstick is to face as shoes are to outfit for social occasion. Though the shoes are all the same color, they are cut, patterned, and intended for different use and myriad looks, so it would be absolutely ignorant and limiting to call all the many unique shapes simply “black shoes.” Likewise, a collection of red lipsticks is not just “lipstick in a red color” but a wardrobe that suits different occasions and attitudes. Each hue has its own special shade and formulation. Some are moisturizing and lustrous, others are matte and deep and sticky, others are stains, some are saturated lacquers. Some are brick, maroon-y reds. Some are brighter, truer reds. Some have a slight, yet, deep bluish hint to it. You wear what is appropriate to address the occasion or attitude you wish to don.

One thing can be said of them, however: They have undeniable power to change my face completely from bare and teetering on the precipice of lethargic, half consciousness, to alert, flushed and awake.

I started falling toying with red lipstick about 7 years ago (age 22), and dabbling led to a full-on obsession to find the perfect shade. Eventually, I settled on these 11. And I can’t think of being apart from them. They are the single most powerful item in my wardrobe.

Never deprive a girl of her red lipstick. Utter folly lies down that path.

Which brings me to another item with which I have been absolutely entranced/obsessed to the point of depression and unmitigated suffering, to indescribable delight:

{ The Jeffrey Campbell Camp cage platform sandals }

Though only a fraction of the frenzy caused by the JC Litas today, the JC Camp cage heels were kind of A Thing when they came out in early 2008. Back then JC was nowhere near as popular as he is today, and was much, much more affordable, which really, really worked out for girls like me, who, despite being a working stiff, could never afford the Proenza Schouler originals. For example, the JC Camp was sold in 2 colors on Nordstrom.com for $79.99. Then it sold out. About 6 months later, it was sold on Urban for $149.99. I snatched up a pair, having lusted after them for all of both the spring and summer.

When an irregularity with the billing system caused an error in my online order, resulting in my inability to purchase the Camps, I called Urban’s customer service in a panic. The rep let me know I was about to buy only one of two left in my size (6.5) and I was lucky I was getting them. They had sold out of most of their stock in just a few days time.

That began my unhealthy obsession with these shoes. Insanely comfortable, and still deathly chic with socks and stockings into the deep fall that descended on Detroit that year, I wore them everywhere until snow prevented it. That was the year I started wearing boots to work and then changing into heels once I arrived in my cubicle, wearing skirts with 2 pairs of tights and thigh high or knee high socks just so I could wear sandals in winter. Because of my insatiable sense of vanity, I changed my habits. Enduring to this day, I wear snow boots or sneakers to the office, or flats in the summer, and change to heels once I arrive at my desk. All because of these sweet Camps.

Fast forward to my San Diego Bachelorette party in May 2009. It’s 1AM. We’re at our third venue. I’m drunk beyond all coherent thought, to the point that my memories to this day have me convinced I have the power to teleport:

I remember being on one side of the table we occupied at the club; then suddenly on the other, dancing with my brother (read: NEAR, you perverts); then suddenly I’m across the room, dancing in the middle of a cypher, HARD; I’m near the bathroom, escorting my sister in law out of the men’s loos; I’m at the foyer, trying to convince someone to complete a goal on the giant cardboard list around my neck; I’m walking to the car, proclaiming to the world to hear that I threw up twice; then I’m home. Home, I’m finally coherent, sobering slowly. I take off my shoes only to realize one of the wooden soles has splintered completely in half, the two ends dangling when not pushed together by the pressure created by my foot arch.

Imagine my abject misery at this discovery!

I cried when I got home to Detroit. No shoe cobbler would fix these battered, split wooden soles. And by then it was a year after the Camps were first released, and were no longer sold online ANYWHERE.

1 year of searching for suitable strappy, comfortable, unique looking replacements resulted in only milquetoast substitutes. Eventually I bought these strappy babies from River Island through a special friend in the UK who got them for me (River Island does not ship Stateside), and was so delighted with them, I gave up my apparently fruitless and desperate mission to find Camp-like strappy shoes.

About a month ago, I found knock offs of the JC knock offs in an unnamed place, for a quarter of the price. So I snatched them up. They are nowhere near as comfy as the JC’s. They’re ill-fitting in certain places, the straps have irregularities, and the heel is higher, but they look almost identical to the original shoes. With a bit of modification, they could be absolutely the same shoe. I’m insanely happy I finally replaced the original shoe. The magic (ie., comfort) of the first somewhat diminished in the second form, I’m still quite pleased my journey with the Camps is at an end now that, after a fashion, I have them again.

What is old is new again. Fashions come and go, and return. If you love something, and you set it free, if it returns to you, it was truly destiny. Tenacity pays off. Patience is a virtue that will be rewarded. Bladity blah blah blah. Whatever. There are innumerable platitudes to apply to this story. The end game for me is that I got what I wanted. And, though it took over a year and a half, I have to tell you that, no matter the issue, a woman cannot be separated from a beloved pair of shoes.

*pardon the ill-fitting paring with the pants. I was just too enthralled with having the shoes I neglected to change. I didn’t actually wear the shoes with the outfit. I wore my Dolce Vita Aprils, which are more suitable a cut for these pants with socks.*

{ Outfit Architecture: peppermint drapey cardigan, Spotted Moth. Belt, Forever21. T neck, Merona/Target. Fitted ankle pant, Body by Victoria’s Secret. Shoes, Miss Me knock off of Jeffrey Campbell. }

Have you ever had any similar stories, similar obsessions? Tell me about it.

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