It seems like the devil I might be wearing Prada sooner than I thought. I was not really planning on buying them, plus my size seemed nowhere to be found. But then after lurking through the closed doors of the Prada store at Avenida da Liberdade in Lisbon for two days – damn you Christmas – I walked in to find myself doubting not only between two colors, but also between two sizes. Nude or black, nude or black? For a moment there, I lost all common sense and wanted to pull the trigger on both – ok black, whereas I can still hear the voice of that little inside-devil whispering I should get the nude ones as well.
The shop-assistant was somehow on a mission to sell me a 37,5 – stating Prada sizing is incorrect and I should size down – which I just wanted to take off right after putting them on and so I took my actual size.
So, why not Louboutin? Because they hurt like nasty paper cuts and I think the kind of hidden golden emblem on the soles of the shoes I went for is way more sexy than the red sole story we learned ourselves to believe.