Yoga Class is a funny place to travel. You’re in athletic-wear, but you don’t need sneakers and it’s not really the same kind of athletic-wear that you would sport, say on your way to spinning. And since the sneakers aren’t mandatory, you’re really blessed with endless possibilities in the shoe department.

Now listen, I’m not saying you shouldn’t wear athletic sneakers to Yoga class. Maybe you want to run there (I’m too lazy for that, but good for you). And they’ll look perfectly appropriate, as you’re wearing matching clothes after all. But yoga has its own style. You’re not wearing shorts and a t-shirt. You’re wearing sleek leggings or flowing fold-over pants, or tiny shorts if you can pull them off. I cannot.

Yoga is supposed to relax you, and so looking cute to and fro should not stress you out. It’s just that sometimes the instructor is really hot and you want to impress him, sometimes the other girls in class are really annoying and you want to show them up, and sometimes you just want to look nice because when you look better you feel better. And isn’t that what yoga is all about, doing something for yourself? Yes, it is. So here are some suggestions on how to incorporate cute footwear into your practice.’

With leggings (cropped or full-length): A ballet flat always looks delicate and feminine. Hence, the All Black Woodstock flat.

With a wide-leg yoga pant (full-length): A moccasin is in keeping with the peaceful tone of your practice. They’re of the earth. You could be taking a vinyasa on a riverbank. Try the Manitobah Trapper Moc.

With wide leg yoga pant (cropped): These are the most athletic-looking pant in the yoga-wear family. A stylish sneaker like the Ed Hardy Low Rise Dubai completes the look.

With tiny yoga shorts (short): A big boot is an adorable contrast and warm feet will enable you to walk around with bare legs even when it’s not warm out. Additionally, wearing bulky boots is always a great way to make your legs look tinier, not that you need to! Pull on the Australia Love Short Nomad.

Namaste.

P.S. Barefoot Tess is offering 25% off for the rest of the day (a few exclusions apply). So you can get your cute yoga footwear on sale! Use code ‘CYBER’ at checkout!

It happens over brunch on Sunday morning, in the locker room after yoga, by drunk-dial at 3am, and via text, causing me to ignore the red hand and walk blindly into traffic: I find out about an upcoming event. It could be a house party, or a dinner party, or a fondue night, or some fabulous gala that requires a gown. Whatever it is, once I get word of it, my mind jumps immediately to what I’m going to wear. Of course, there are endless contributing factors to consider. The most basic are the occasion, its venue and of course, the season. Some of the more minute considerations however, include, who else will attend, if there will be dancing, and whether or not I’ll be drinking red wine. (Its stains have notoriously ruined dresses forever.)

Occasionally, I hear of the event and an outfit that I own and have been meaning to wear pops into my head straightaway. It’s perfect and I’m golden, despite the fact that I’ve almost been hit by a taxi.  More often though, I have to spend a good half hour-who am I kidding? An hour and a half-trying on clothes and shoes and scarves and bracelets to construct the perfect look for the party. Once in a great while, I hear of the event and the perfect outfit simply appears. I know what it looks like and how to accessorize. It will be flattering and flawless. The only problem is that I’ve invented this outfit-it’s merely a product of my imagination. I might own a few pieces of the look, but I certainly don’t own the majority of it.

At this point I should say, “Well, that would be nice.  Too bad it doesn’t exist.” Instead, I start taking a mental inventory of all the stores in the area, who carries and what, and hours of operation. The quest begins: building the nonexistent look. If it’s made of separates, the task is easier, but the journey is long. If I’ve designed a dress in my head, the mission is in serious risk of ending in failure, through no fault of my own. I’ll take a second to brag here.  If it exists, I will find it. E-mail me!

I find that when I’m going crazy to build a look, the thing I am most thankful for is my shoe wardrobe. A shoe wardrobe full of staples will never let you down. Here are some I think every girl should own so when she’s built the perfect outfit, she can rush home from the stores, just in time to get ready in a hurry, and the shoes will be waiting in her closet to complete the ensemble.

The Black Patent Flat (All Black for Barefoot Tess Banded Flat)

The Corso Como Rachel II

The Accent Flat (Barefoot Tess Edie)

The Metallic Party Shoe (Gwyneth Princess Heel)

Speak up! What are your favorite staples?

And speaking of dreaming up styles, are there any that you’d like BFT to carry? Tell me what’s missing!

When I wrote about The Eternal Battle: Cute vs. Comfy and the daily struggle that accompanies it, I got a lot of feedback about the difficulty of getting ready in a hurry. Very few of us have the will to wake up two hours early to straighten our hair, construct a flawless outfit, and make sure we don’t dash out the door without our iPhone. It’s tempting to throw on sweats and schlep through your daily activities. And sure, they’re comfortable, but they belong on the couch. When you look better, you feel better and it completely changes the way you go about the day. Here are some insider’s tricks for pulling your look together in seconds and feeling great for hours.

The Headband: Tempted to twist your wet hair into a bun and check that off your list? Part it on the side, twist it into a lower bun, and wear a headband. All of a sudden, you’ve got yourself a hairstyle.

The Accessories: A set of bangles, a strand of pearls, or a cocktail ring will polish a work outfit and dress up even the plainest white t-shirt.

The Cardigan: If it’s chilly, it’s true, a big hoodie would be comfy and keep you warm. But a cardigan will show your shape, pull your look together, and keep you just as warm. Again, even over a plain white tee, it adds something. In an ideal world, you’d have one in every color, but an easy alternative is having a black one and one in your favorite accent color. (Mine is yellow.)

The Structured Boot: It’s tall and it’s elegant. Wear these over skinny jeans, tights, or your leggings and a plain tee (and cardigan.) They add sophistication and style to any outfit, and you only need one pair. They define staple.

The Soft Jean: Often women don’t want to wear jeans because they’re uncomfortable, cut into their side, etc. Try a soft, dark pair with some stretch or a pair of jeggings. You’ll be more willing to put them on if they’re comfortable and the Lycra will keep them from looking stretched out and sloppy. Jeans are infinitely more stylish than sweats (even if they’re juicy velours.)

The Makeup: No time for applying a full face? Me neither. Take 30 seconds to apply a bit of blush, a swipe of mascara, and a dab of lip gloss. All of a sudden, you’ll look 10 times brighter.

The Flats: Don’t stuff your foot into a smelly gym sneaker unless you’re actually planning on working out. A simple ballet flat matches everything and adds a touch of femininity. Black patent is my dear old standby, while metallic or a leopard print is a great accent.

The Coat: I know it’s cold outside. And if you live in one of those cities whose weather requires the floor-length down parka, you’re out of luck. As for the rest of you, fleeces are sloppy, ski jackets are not glamorous, and nobody likes a girl who wears a way-too-tiny jacket while shivering and sniffling her way through the day. A coat will keep you warm and you’ll look pretty while you walk. A trench, a pea coat, anything with a bit of structure and you’re great to go. Pair it with a matching scarf (maybe a hat and gloves) and you’ve got your outdoor look.

Love these looks? Look no further!

Jessica Simpson

The Delma Janis

Lauren Conrad

The Corso Como Rachel II

Hillary Duff

The Faryl Robin Dahling

Anne Hathaway

The Corso Como Boca

I was invited to my very first wedding at the age of seven, that of a distant cousin whom I had no recollection of meeting but I knew, from the wedding invitation, that he existed. Upon learning of my cousin’s existence and his imminent nuptials, I began dreaming of a beautiful gold dress, with ruffles and taffeta, lace and brocade paired with a tasteful tiara and black patent leather ballet flats. (I was seven, living in New Jersey, and it was the early nineties—there’s no accounting for taste.) I related my pageant-worthy costume choice to my mother, but only got as far as the taffeta before her face fell into an “I feel sort of bad for you, but you’re ridiculous” grimace. “Laura,” she said, somewhat gently, “This is a daytime wedding.” What that had to do with anything, I hadn’t a clue, but the point was that my dress was not appropriate. “You’ll wear a suit.”

She whisked me away from my cartoons the following Saturday morning to shop at Saks for this ill-fated suit. I sat in the back seat, pouting all the way for the loss of my delusions of grandeur, and maybe a little because I wasn’t allowed to sit in the front. We were greeted at Saks, with offensive enthusiasm by Carol, who had gone ahead and picked out a bunch of suits for me. As we walked through the beautiful party dresses in a parade of crushed dreams, I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone else didn’t find it preposterous that a child would wear a suit. At seven, I looked up at two grown adult women and thought, “You want a child to wear a suit. And I’m the ridiculous one? ” But sure enough I began trying on suits. We finally go to one that had a nice top (a cream vest lined with black satin) but I was wearing pants with it and worked up the nerve to put my foot down. “I saw a skirt out there that goes with this. Can I please wear the skirt?” My mother agreed and I handed her the pants.

“Carol,” she called. “Would you mind bringing the skirt for this top?”

“And which top is that?” Carol called back.

“Oh, come in and see it,” my mother answered without a second’s hesitation.”

“What? Mom, no!” I pleaded. I was in my underwear. Carol was not allowed to see my underwear. First these women were robbing me of a beautiful party dress and now my dignity? Absolutely not! But in Carol came. I stood there awkwardly feeling my face getting hot and trying desperately to pull the vest down to cover myself—in vain. Carol acted like the sight of my underwear wasn’t no thing, but the damage had been done. I got that “my throat is hurting because I’m trying not to cry” feeling. My mother paid for the suit and a sensible headband and off we went to Stride Rite.

I still had hope for the black patent leather ballet flat, which I fondly referred to as ‘big-girl shoes.’ (My favorite shoe to this day is the black patent ballet flat.) I made my wish known to my mother, who agreed, assuring me they would definitely have those. I spotted them the second we walked into the store. Perfect. I sat on the bench shaken by the panties incident, but thankful that at least I wasn’t afraid of the metal foot measurer. The salesgirl came over, measured, looked down at my dream shoe, then up at my mother. “She has a very broad foot,” she stated. “These aren’t going to work, but those will.” She pointed to a Mary Jane. My heart sank. “But what about another size?” I asked. “What about something you have in the back?” I was grasping. “PLEASE!”

I couldn’t believe it. My last chance for some semblance of elegance and they were sticking my stupid broad foot in a Mary Jane? A Mary Jane is the opposite of a big-girl shoe! It’s a little-girl shoe! “Sorry,” the salesgirl said—still no sympathy, and in fact, maybe a taking some sick pleasure in all of this. “These are all we have.” My mother agreed and she bought the Mary Janes. I was so depressed I didn’t even want to stop at Mrs. Fields. I hated the mall, I hated my life, and I hated my fat fat fatty fat foot.

This feeling, being denied the shoe you want because of the size of your foot: avoid it. Shop Barefoot Tess.

Now, you know I want your traumatizing childhood stories. Let’s hear ‘em. And mind the contest ($50 to our commenter of the week)!

I spend the vast majority of the winter months tucked up into the folds of many layers of blankets on my couch, watching DVR’ed television and sipping cocoa. Fine, that’s not true, but often I wish it were. Instead I spend my winters shivering, traversing the sidewalk hunched over with my head down, and complaining about the inexorable cold the second I arrive at my destination with chapped hands and a runny nose. New York winters are brutal, but as I understand, I’m actually spoiled having to put up only with this. Here the temperature rarely plummets below 0˚F, whereas in other cities, they’re dealing with temperatures below zero on a daily basis—I’m talking to you, Minneapolis.

Here they are.

The Top 5 Things I Hate About Winter:

5. When you’re in someone’s home and they just don’t have the heat high enough. You hint. You chatter your teeth. They don’t offer you so much as a cup of tea and they inevitably have one of those cold leather couches.

4. Falling on the ice. (This happens to me a lot because among my favorite winter pastimes is “ice skating,” though it’s most always met with the response, “Stop sliding around on that black ice, Laura, you’re going to fall!” And then I do, and I hate it.)

3. Runny noses and teary eyes. (Every time I come inside I have to wipe the tears from my eyes and blow my nose. Even then, it never really stops running. And do I ever carry tissues? Of course not.)

2. (a.) The great heaps of gray snow that are a permanent fixture on every sidewalk until mid-March. Upside: when the pile gets really tall, you can climb on it—it offers a sizable deal of fun in the cold while you’re waiting for the bus and you’ve grown tired of ice skating on the sidewalk.

2. (b.) Falling off of the gray snow pile into the street—people stare.

1. Cold feet. If you don’t wear the right boots, your feet are cold for months straight. And once they get cold, they never get warm, especially if you’re hanging out at this person’s house: See 5.

There’s just one solution and I’ve got it: Appropriate winter boots. Now, appropriate very seldom implies cute and fashionable, but I would never suggest something that wasn’t. I’ve got your backs, girls.

The Cosmosis Alaska

The Sorel Caribou BootThe Australia Love Corset

Obviously, I want to hear what everyone else hates about winter—you know I love your stories.  And remember commenter of the week (here or over at Tess HQ) wins $50.

I was late to Sunday brunch, and it was completely as a result of my not having the sole super power I’d really love to possess: the ability to know where my lost things have gone.  Sure, I’d like to be invisible, or fly, or time travel, or fly invisibly while I time travel, but none of those super powers would help me find the mate to my Paul Mayer ‘Bingo’ Flat. To be fair, every complete shoe wardrobe needs a lot of things, but the thing it needs most is a black patent ballet flat. They work with dressy and casual. They match everything.  They’re elegant, feminine, and comfortable. They’re essential.

But now I’ve found myself in a jam, because what do you do when you’ve lost the mate to your most versatile shoe? Cry, throw a bunch of your clothes on the floor, and arrive late to brunch in an outfit you only sort of like and a foul mood, forcing your friends to order you a Bloody Mary with desperate urgency? Yes. But then what? Girls, the only thing I can think to do is buy another pair. And now you see why I really do NEED that super power.

I know I’m not the only one: Which super power can you not live without and why?  Remember comment of the week wins $50 (comment here).

And here are some patent ballet flats in case you too have lost the mate to your most cherished pair. If you have, I would now like to take to time to extend my deepest condolences. This too shall pass—when you buy a new pair, like these:

The Paul Mayer Bingo flat.

The Delman Mona.

The Dolce Vita Flora.And now, I ask that you partake in a collective moment of silence for all of the lost shoes we’ve ever mourned.

You know when you riffle through the back of your mother’s closet, hoping to find certain coveted pieces from her days at Wellesley, (bell bottoms, patterned blouses, knits in brown and orange… and more brown)? We all know the drill. Much to your fashion frustration, all you end up unearthing from the depths of the walk-in is a bunch of power suits in vertigo-inducing colors, the very suits you spit up on as a baby–probably on purpose now that you think about it. Am I right?  I’m right.

I’m doing you a favor here. These are the chunky heels you’re always hoping to find, the ones mom wore with her high-wasted Jordache jeans: The Barefoot Tess Thalia by Faryl Robin.

By no means do I intend to insult the contents of your mother’s closet. You and I both know there are some real treasures in there. And not to be overlooked, grandma’s closet.

What’s the most amazing find you’ve ever walked away with after a session of  “She won’t mind. She probably doesn’t even remember she owns this?” And while we’re on the subject,  what’s the absolute most offensive piece you’ve ever reintroduced to the light of day (Only to frantically shove it back onto the top shelf after a good laugh, I hope)?

Comment of the week over at Barefoot Tess wins $50. So come on, girls.  Show me what you’ve got… or rather, tell me what you’ve found!

To be honest, we haven’t been this excited for a cultural event…

Since, well, since maybe ever.

And while we’ve determined that it’s impossible (or at the very least, certainly inadvisable) to actually become a wild thing…

That doesn’t mean you can’t, from time to time, pretend.  After all, aren’t fur (or faux) vests already an it item this fall?

You pair one of those babies with a pair of these babies…

And you’re good to go. And growl, if you want to.

You know who said that? John Keats said that. No. Wrong. Sorry–he wrote it.  In 1818.  Here’s the stanza you can find it in, from the poem, Endymion:

A thing of beauty is a joy forever:

It’s loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health and quiet breathing

And do you how old John Keats was when he wrote this?

He was 22 years old! He’d be dead by 25.

And do you know what those lines are about?

That’s right! You guessed it! They’re about shoes! Beautiful, beautiful shoes!

No. Just kidding. Sorry. They’re not about shoes.

But they could be! Right? After all, what’s more beautiful than a perfect pair of shoes? And while they can’t quite last forever, who doesn’t have a blissfully beautiful pair of shoes emblazoned in their memory for all time? I mean, who doesn’t think back, from time to time, wistfully, on the best pair of shoes they’ve ever owned? I know I do.

And I bet you anything that Keats did as well. (Though of course, it’s unverifiable.) So whenever anybody gives you a hard time about your insatiable need for beauty on your feet, just give ‘em some Keats, a man so Romantic they capitalized the word for him…

(P.S. If you like this post clikc here and comment. Tess is giving $50 to one lucky commenter of the week!)