This isn’t a new thing; it happens like clockwork every two years (I am a summer and winter games girl). The 1984 summer games were my gateway drug. I was glued to the television, rapt with pre-teen awe, wishing I possessed the ariel prowess of one miss Mary Lou Retton (fetching haircut and all). In fact, so deep was my love for the enterprise that I kept a pristine package of M&M’s emblazoned with the Olympic rings for years as a sort of token of my affection.
Cut to 28 years later, and I still have the fever, but the desired tokens have become far more extravagant…. like say, these brass legs by Kelly Wearstler. They somehow feel positively Olympic to me. So much so, that if I had a cold $1,495 in my pocket, I’d pop over to Forty Five Ten and snap those bad boys up.