Patent Still Pending

Yesterday, I spotted a woman struggling up the steps of the Driggs Ave. side of the Bedford stop of the L train. She was hobbled by a pair of over 3-inch sculpted heels with gladiator-style straps over the instep and an ankle cuff. Meanwhile, her companion, in sprightly red patent flats, scampered up the steps. Heels, to my mind are meant to appear seductively on a long leg emerging from the back seat of a cab or limo, not as mass transit footwear. No, sneakers with heels to go, are not essential, but let us please exercise some safety sense. As for patent, my strong views on the subject follow. Although this prediction—over a year old—never really came to pass, I did see two pairs of moss green patent leather shoes in a shop window on the Upper East Side, so maybe I’ll take credit for spotting a “trendlet.”

Here’s a post I drafted over a year ago that was never published…

Patently Incompatible

Patent leather got its shine on with a special linseed-oil-based leather finish process developed in 1819 in Newark, NJ. And now, more likely with a plastic coating, or totally plastic, it is shinier than ever. A few decades ago, it escaped from the bounds of circumspect formality. Men wore patent leather shoes with formal wear. Women generally wore black patent pumps for dress occasions or for business in August—after they were thoroughly bored with white kid. For all purposes, like whites and pastels, patent shoes were laid to rest in the closet for resurrection at Easter (remember your Mary Janes with white anklets?).

Patent has long since morphed into year-round business wear, offering dressy shine to women of a certain age who no longer could navigate through business conferences on 3-inch conservative business pumps. Stilettos were out of the question entirely. A pair of black patent flats or pumps with a modest wedge would do nicely, thank you.

The color palette stayed limited however, black, white, and more recently, red. I have particular reverence for a red patent “leather” belt of my mother’s with a covered buckle from the WW II years. I can accept school-bus yellow, having been a fan of yellow kidskin Capezio flats in the 1950s. But I’ll admit to being taken aback when I spotted as I was transferring from the L to the R train at Union Square a pair of patent sandals in moss green.

The wearer was not carrying the Brahmin Delita bag featured in the June issue of Vanity Fair—in faux crocodile patent leather also in moss green. That would have been too much. Moreover, as it was not available on the handbag rental site I consulted, it would have set her back $335, now considered a bargain for a fashionable bag. (The Brahmin Web site now offers only white and an unappealing sand.) Instead, a nondescript fabric in a green abstract print held the sandal-wearer’s possessions.

Reeling from the dissonance, my mind nursed its wounded chromatic preconceptions. I actually like moss green. My last consumer home purchase was a moss green bath mat. To my mind, if patent is green, it should be phthalo green, or maybe forest green emerging from cool dark neutral shadow of its heritage, not the color moss between blocks of concrete or an inside leaf of wilting lettuce. If the moss green color choice was powered by the current eco swell, it’s a beached marine mammal.

Finish matters. I object to mixing moss green with high polish. Why is this a personal taboo? I love Modernism--sleek lines, flat color fields, glass and steel--but to live on the earth we humans may need to indulge in manufactured perfection only in moderation. It takes too much energy to take an object to the final Modernist pinnacle. An object can be just as perfect functionally when it is a tiny bit crude and homemade. Moss green patent may be such a "bridge too far." Let’s reserve high gloss for high decorum, being on stage, not flip flopping up subway stairs.

Postscript: Alas, I saw my mom’s iconic red patent belt, albeit in a wider version in, you guessed it--moss green in the window of Fuego on Grand St. in Williamsburg.

So this running commentary begins in the spirit of humility…

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ask the experts!
Frances Chapman will tell us why trends become, and when to look into the future.