There is something about this photo that I love.
[Photos: Splash News]
It's as if Gwyneth has just swept imperiously past the top-hatted doorman and he's staring after her, puzzled and hurt, because all he asked was if she'd had a good day and whether her lunchtime lentils and tree bark were cooked to perfection, and she blew right by so she could get upstairs and write a GOOP post about the lost art of genuflection.
If we were all to bow down to Her Highness of Lifestyle Wisdom, though, we'd come face to face with those curious shoes. And I can't decide if that's a good thing. Let's go in for a closer look that doesn't require us to get our noses dirty on the pavement:
[Photos: Splash News]
It's as if Gwyneth has just swept imperiously past the top-hatted doorman and he's staring after her, puzzled and hurt, because all he asked was if she'd had a good day and whether her lunchtime lentils and tree bark were cooked to perfection, and she blew right by so she could get upstairs and write a GOOP post about the lost art of genuflection.
If we were all to bow down to Her Highness of Lifestyle Wisdom, though, we'd come face to face with those curious shoes. And I can't decide if that's a good thing. Let's go in for a closer look that doesn't require us to get our noses dirty on the pavement:
From a distance it really looked like she had socks on with those things. But now I see they are booties, with ballet-esque wraps over them. Clearly I'm supposed to think they're super artsy and fashionable, but I keep getting stumped on why anyone would want shoes that create the ILLUSION that they're wearing socks under sandals. Or which give off the faintest whiff of being an advanced form of heavy bandage, like she did a fire walk for a GOOP segment on what she likes to do during her cleanses to stave off hunger and hallucinations, and the coals reacted with her nail polish and blew up into a deadly flesh-peeling inferno. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I guess I prefer my shoes to look like... shoes.
