The Manolo frequently gets the plaintive missives from the women who wish to restyle their men folk into something more put-together, something less sloppy, rustic, disastrous, and/or menacing. “Manolo,” they frequently cry out, “my husband dresses as if he were Larry the Cable Guy’s younger, messier brother. Please help.”This is not a problem I encounter. If anything my husband probably is shaking his own head in forlorn sympathy. The Manolo suggests discrete gifts and praise for the significant other, but personally, I rather like a man who is sloppy, rustic, disastrous, and/or menacing. I distantly admire one who is well put-together, but as a kind of pet: someone I'd want to pair with one of the women who would wear those fabulous shoes. We would watch them gambol in the yard, perhaps put on dance music for them.
The Manolo also showcases Helen Mirren this week, a stylish, intelligent actress I always enjoy watching at work. I just borrowed a copy of "The Queen" from a friend and found it a first-rate production with a fine screenplay. When Tony Blair first visits the Queen, he is awkward and abashed but a bit full of himself as the youngest PM ever. The Queen calmly notes that he is her tenth Prime Minister. The first was Winston Churchill. Like Churchill, Blair was destined to ride high then be dashed on the rocks, but the Queen is still there.