Writing a heart-felt obituary, standing up against an online bully and falling in love with Michele Lopriore’s popular wing-tip oxford. (Yes, it’s been a busy few weeks since my last post.) 😁
Writing an obituary sucks; not just for the people grieving, but for the reporter who doesn’t really KNOW the person they’re writing about, at least in the traditional sense.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve had my head lodged in front of a computer, carefully crafting an obituary for a famous person who isn’t even dead yet. I know, I know, it sounds morbid, but it’s actually a compliment.
At least coming from us news types.
When you leave your mark on the world, especially if you’re a member of the rich and famous, you can’t show one ounce of mortality. Even a small dose of it can leave the press on high alert.
As a journalist, I can tell you “The End” is pretty significant when it comes to storytelling; even the anticipation of it. Right or wrong, it’s the world we live in and something I’ve grown accustomed to dealing with, although I do still have my moments…
Especially when my boss slinks up to me from across the Newsplex and whispers: “Sandoval, you need to write an obituary on so-&-so.” I act surprised and say: “Are they dying? Are they dead yet?” He always gives me the same look. I call it the “get your head out of your derrière look.” I used “derrière” to be polite.
Like a good reporter, I do the research, read, watch, listen; searching for the most compelling moments of the persons life.
Then, I do a few drafts combining facts, highlights and low lights. Adding some magic is a must, too. After all, it’s Hollywood we’re talking about.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older, but this last obituary really did a number on me. After dividing the person’s life into six decades and some change, the party was basically over or at least it seemed that way.
It made me sad, irritated and overly emotional. The piece came out good, but after it was edited and filed “in waiting,” I felt bad. Icky. Depressed.
Making matters worse, over the next few days, I saw the person everywhere: on the cover of a magazine in the grocery store check-out line, on a national morning show talking about a new project, even guest starring in a movie special on my favorite cable network, HBO.
He/she sure didn’t seem like they were dying to me…
But neither did Prince, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson or Joan Rivers. I realized, however sobering the obituary, the point was to be prepared and we were.
After breaking down the person’s life, I realized for the first time in mine, there were probably more decades behind me than in front of me, although the “Guinness Book of World Records” can really give a girl hope.
Not that I would look forward to being the oldest woman alive. I don’t think there’s enough botox in the world to keep me going until 117 (which happens to be the age of the oldest person on the planet. I looked it up.) 👵🏻
By the way, I realize I’m not entirely special here and that at a certain age most people come to this realization, but I have to admit, I’ve been acting a wee bit crazy because of it.
Some people call it a “mid-life crisis” — I call it “more shoes” (at least more than usual,) “more carbs” (spaghetti with marina sauce and fresh parmesan cheese) “more vodka and soda” (with extra lemon AND lime; why choose one?) And more of NOT turning the other cheek.
Without going into too much detail (because frankly, it’s not worth it), a woman attacked my appearance on social media the other day.
In TV, we’re taught to look the other way and not respond because it adds fuel to the fire and you just can’t win or maybe the hater is just looking for attention …
Believe me, I get it, BUT it really depends on what the person is saying and WHERE they’re saying it. I do not and will not tolerate any kind of cyber-bullying.
Look, if someone doesn’t like my outfit or thinks I shouldn’t have made a joke on Deco Drive and has genuine constructive criticism, that’s one thing; but a mean-spirited attack on how I look is another.
Especially when it’s on my OWN Facebook page. People get brave behind a computer, spew hate and it’s NOT RIGHT. So…
I stood up for myself and told the nay-sayer (in so many words) to take a hike and not a scenic one. I wasn’t rude or mean; who wants to be what they’re trying to deflect? I was, however, true to myself and you know what? It felt GOOD.
Say what you want, when you want and how you want to your own friends and family. Heck, put it on your own social media, but why would you come to MY page and attack me? SMH.
In this crazy age of Twitter, IG & FB, it’s easy to forget while swiping, liking and re-tweeting, there’s an actual person on the other side of that phone and/or computer. One with feelings, hopes, dreams and only a certain amount of decades behind or in front of them. We’re all creatures of humanity, are we not?
During all this mid-life crisis stuff, I was also thinking about my next blog: “My New Miami Vice” featuring wingtip loafers from Michele Lopriore Shoes and, how I’d actually go about writing it.
Then it dawned on me: at the “sole” of the blog (other than a stunning pair of bowling shoes) was another unexplainable shift in my behavior.
I live, eat and breath fashion, especially shoes, but I’m not always practical in my styling choices. Beauty is pain, no? At least it is for me. I try for comfy heels, but it doesn’t always work out that way. (I digress.)
When I first walked by Michele Lopriore Shoes at Brickell City Center downtown Miami, I was mesmerized by a pair of wingtip loafers in the window.
As I walked closer, I saw them in a variety of vibrant colors: red, blue, orange, pink and green. The shoes practically screamed “Miami!”
They had an incredible mix of textures, too, like linen, suede, sparkles, tassels etc. Once I tried them on — it was a done deal.
My foot easily slipped into the soft and supple shoe. Its bold wedge added extra comfort. It felt like — HEAVEN.
Was it really possible that I liked a Chic effortless loafer? Who was I? And where were the stilettos I had walked in with? Oh yeah, I stuffed them into my purse so I could wear “My New Miami Vice.”
I have a feeling those stilettos are going to be joining the decades behind me. Can you blame me? I never thought I’d feel beautiful in a loafer, but I did and do. Heck, my body feels better, too.
Michele Lopriore Shoes, which is new to Miami via Milan, is known for its exceptional Italian craftsmanship. The designer himself (Michele) has been perfecting his talents for 30 years. Translation: he really knows what he’s doing!
When you put on a pair of his shoes, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. The best part? You don’t have to sell an organ to afford a pair. It’s a good thing, too, because mine are running low 😆.
Don’t miss Deco Drive tonight at 7:30/11:30pm as we go inside Michele Lopriore Shoes to try-on their latest loafer trends. And…
Don’t worry, I’m not giving up on my heels just yet, but a girl does need a little down time every now and then — literally — and that’s why “My New Miami Vice” is one of my favorite things.
ps: The obituary is still in waiting.
pps: I blocked the hater.
ppps: I’m still having a midlife crisis.
Michele Lopriore Shoes
Located on the 2nd floor of Brickell City Centre
701 South Miami Avenue
Miami, FL. 33131
Monday- Saturday 10am-9:30am
They went into my closets looking for skeletons, but thank God, all they found were beautiful shoes.Imelda Marcos
Photographer: James Woodley Photography
All loafers provided by Michele Lopriore at Brickell City Centre
Hair & Make-up: Odett Hernandez
Digital Editor: Jessie Neft-Swinger
Editor: Matthew “Flats Are Where It’s At” Auerbach