The Visa Diaries

Kuala Lumpur is one of those amazingly exotic sounding places, like Zanzibar or Samarkand – at least to my American ears. It is always mentioned in movies as the source of ocean tankers full of illicit cargo, or nefarious asian gang goings-on. Whenever I heard the name, it conjured images of sultry yellow lighting over semi-obscurred characters in luxuriously carved wooden rooms, sites of mysterious dealings and romantic liaisons.

Arriving there last Sunday, however, the actual Kuala Lumpur presents quite a different picture. Apparently, the Malaysians have been quite industrious over the past quarter century, and cleaned up most of the exotic, colonial “asianness” (pardon my Orientalism) that was the Kuala Lumpur of my fantasies. The “KL” of today is all modern high-rise, eight-lane highway, and gleaming mega-mall.

Seemingly, it should be the country for me: as one person I met told me, “the pastimes of most Malaysians are eating and shopping.” (This was offered in explanation of why none of the locals had been up the the jungle in the North of the country that is an international ecological treasure and tourist destination). Fair enough – although I did go to the jungle, I also went to the mall. And ate a lot. More on that:

What I didn’t find fair enough was the rampant sizism of the Malaysian malls! Even had I not been eating for Asia (and to be fair, with the 3-day juice fast that I did in Thailand, I think it all came out equal), there was not one thing in that mall that fit me!

Starting with shoes – we started with shoes because Arvind left my Christmas gift on the airplane, and thus was trying to replace it with a pair of casual, flippy, low-heels. We found the perfect pair at Bally… and then found that they only do up to a size 39. Apparently nowhere in the whole country, perhaps continent (because I tried again Hong Kong duty free) does higher! I am a size 40 – 9 US, 7 UK – which is perfectly normal and perhaps even small for someone who is 5′ 10″. However, if I lived in Kuala Lumpur, apparently I would have to go barefoot. Polite yet feckless, one sales person after another smiled and shook their heads, with absolute certainly that they did not have my size. Well then.

Stymied on the shoe front, and still in need of a Christmas pressie, I thought maybe some nice, tailored long jean shorts would be the thing. I spotted a Miss Sixty shop, and inside the perfect pair – just the right combination of funk and coy. And asked for my size: 30. Again, completely reasonable for all those of us who don’t make our living by walking a runway in Milan or Paris. And to think I had actually been feeling rather fit due to my juice fast. Oh contrare! The punky, spaghetti-noodle bodied salesboy came to my dressing room and announced: sorry, we don’t have that size ma’am! Here’s tip: if you ever want to feel utterly too big, like a kid outside of a candy store, just go shopping in Kuala Lumpur. At least it will save some cash. Which you will of course need to send with the therapist once you get back home.

In the end, my Christmas present from Arvind turned into a wallet. Turquoise patent leather, and very cute. Shockingly, wallets turn out to be the same size in Kuala Lumpur as everywhere else in the world – my credit cards fit into it no problem.

So, I *finally* did some Christmas shopping. One for them, one for me. One for them, one for me. That’s how it goes, right?

I did start out altruistically enough, this past Saturday, when I made a quick trip into New York to kick off the Christmas shopping season. (I loved that my train, an extra one added to the schedule by Metro-North, was even called “The Shoppers’ Special”). I was meeting up with two of my dearly beloved San Franciscan friends, Mara and Adam, who had also taken the equivalent of a “Shoppers’ Special” all the way across the country (although I’m not sure United was savvy enough to call it that). Of course we chose the busiest place on the whole entire planet to meet: the corner of Broadway and Prince, in front of Dean & Deluca, on a Saturday afternoon just 9 days before Christmas. Insanity. It took a while to worm our way out of there, but then our first stop was the MOMA Design Store, where I bought several cool toys for my niece and nephew. I even managed to put away the set of Eames building cards that *I* really wanted, and buy the funky car kit that I think my nephew will actually prefer. Now that is the ultimate restraint when one is gift-buying.

Feeling high from my bout of generosity, all good intentions of course went out the window from there. I’ll spare you the details (let’s just say, the card limit is not maxed out, so that’s something, but nor did I manage to tick off anybody else on my list… sigh) and just tell you about my gem purchase:

these divine, peacock-teal, suede heels from Sigerson Morrison. I’m sure I do not need to introduce Sigerson Morrison to you, that staple provider of pretty, just-so cladding for the downtown foot. This particular shoe was truly too perfect to pass by. First it was the color, this vivid, unusual peacock blue. Then the heel – just high enough to feel like you are wearing heels, but not too high to be uncomfortable or overbearing (at 5′9″ I have to cap my heels at a certain height andyway). And finally, the style: an innocent round toe, belied by a low-cut side and strap around the ankle. A knowing ingenue, is there a more provocative combo?

I am wearing my new pumps as I write this, and I can just feel the words flowing more easily, my fingers tapping more saucily. And if they can put the spice into typing, then just imagine what they can do for a night out on the town…

I know they are the ugliest shoes in the world.

I know that wearing them telegraphs to the world that I am trying to get rid of my cellulite… even though (I swear, I am not saying this because we are discussing my thighs on a blog) I don’t really have much cellulite.

I am referring, of course, to my MBTs. MBTs, of course, being the phenomenon that lit up ladies’ mags a year or two ago, as being THE CELLULITE CURE! (God, I am getting embarrassed talking about cellulite so publicly, as if just the mention of the stuff will make it spread its bubbly little curse over my butt. Or worse, will make everybody scrutinize my butt to see if that has happened… Anyway.) In case you had more sensible things to worry about and missed the fuss, MBT stands for Massai Barefoot Technology. The hype is that some German scientist, who looked like a throwback to WWII based on the video that accompanies the shoes, realized after years and years of study that (drumroll)… the pavement is the problem! People were not evolved for the hard, flat ground that on which we tread in our modern cemented and asphalted world, and it throws our alignment and skeletons out of whack. Hence, Massai Barefoot Technology to the rescue, which builds into the sole of shoe a mechanism to replicate walking on uneven ground, just like the Massai – who apparently have fantastic posture, and never get back problems.

And yes, you need a video to learn how to walk in them, the movement is so different from walking in regular shoes. So really, they were developed for people with back problems, the cellulite bit was just a happy accident having to do with better muscle use and increased circulation to “the region.” A happy accident, both for millions of women all over the world, and I’m sure, for the MBT marketing department.

So if I don’t have cellulite, then, what could possibly be the reason for wearing these monstrosities? I recently got my second pair, too, so it wasn’t just a quick fad. One honest answer is that they are just really comfortable. I know that is boring, but I haven’t had any problem with shin splints since I’ve been running in them. And, they make me stand taller, butt and abs pulled in – I swear I get checked out more when I am wearing them, I must stand with a more regal air. And, ok, let’s be honest, even though I don’t have cellulite now, none of us is immune to the bubble curse. I like the fact that MBTs are combatting it – an ounce of prevention, like taking my vitamins.

Well, if you thought I got away form Marrakech with just a couple of rugs, you still don’t know me very well! The total booty haul was:

2 rugs
1 yummy woolen winter hat
1 gorgeous rafia woven handbag
3 punched tin lamps (2 are a wedding gift for my friend Steph)
3 bottles of rose water
1 black leather belt with gold studs (woof!)
1 malachite ring
1 pair of handmade leather slippers

Plus an assortment of food, drink, and entertainment, including 2 hammams and 2 suppers at the amazing outdoor food stalls in Place Jemma El Fna.

If this seems like a lot, you will be amazed at the restraint I showed, given all that I possibly could have bought out of the pile of teak, ceramics, leather, silk, spice, and on and on that jammed the souk

I am particularly chuffed about the hat, which is just toffee-colored hand know yumminess and will be a constant companion this winter (unsure why the Moroccan knit heavy woolen hats? it was over 100 degrees the whole time). And also the tin lamps, which were made by Mak’s friend Hassan Hajjaj, who is Morocco’s answer to Andy Warhol. He takes traditional Moroccan crafts, and mashes them up with funky pop references. Very cool stuff, and a big shout out to both him and Abdul for giving me a bit of orientation around Marrakech. If you are ever there, you must stay his Riad Yima.

Anyway, what can I say? I love traveling, and I loved Marrakech – warm desert air and dusty pink walls, donkeys in the streets and snake charmers in the square. Mint tea and more mint tea. Objects are memory devices, a physical way to bring home and save a small bit of a beautiful experience. I don’t know when I will get back there, but padding about my apartment in my handsewn leather slippers, I will remember the souk fondly and, just perhaps, be able to close my eyes and feel a warm ray of the north african sun.

Well, if it had just been the Marc Jacobs jacket, then maybe things wouldn’t have gone so horribly wrong. But you see, I don’t get into town all that often, with spare time to shop, and while the sales are on… So, on my way out of Selfridges, I decided to just quickly pop by the women’s shoe department. Not the Manolo Blahnik department or anything, just the regular old multi-brand shoe mecca on the second floor. And at first things were going so well, I was being so restrained. Layed out on wire racks as they are during sales, the shoes don’t look so appealing, and really I was managing to be quite blase about it all.

Until I saw the Belstaffs:

Belstaff is of course the biker manufacturer turned fashion must-have (I mean, anything with Kate Moss involved is a must-have, right?). I had been coveting a pair at least since March, when I first saw my colleague Raina with her super-cute super-skinny black jeans tucked into a pair of high, black, buckled Belstaffs.

Boy does Belstaff like buckles. They have about a five buckle per boot minimum, buckling you up and buckling you down from heel to knee. The buckles and vented leather give them this Heidi-in-the-Alps meets Cry-of-the-Valkyries look – a super devil S&M Viking maid, or something. Quite spectacular, if hard to put your finger on.

The fact that they’ve been making hardcore biker gear since the 1920s for people like Che Guevera (who wore Belstaff on his epic motorcycle journey up South America) adds that layer of authenticity. The result is an item that is not only fashionable and beautifully constructed, but also has overtones of rebellion and anti-social behavior? Bring it on!

And, this pair was in white (I had been wanting white boots!) which just added whole new layer – nursing shoes, Mods, etc. So may references in one pair of boots, it makes your head spin.

But anyway, the point is, I had held off for at least four months, an absolute paragon of virtue. Now here they were: in my size, in white, and half off. Every shopper knows that exhilarating feeling of striking gold, finding something that is not supposed to exist. Again, only one decision was imaginable. I handed over the credit card, this time unable to shake the knowledge that Earnest would not approve…