A sensibly chic take on the fiber and jute peasant footwear made in Catalonia since the 14th century – and popularized by designers in the forties and eighties – I like to think of TOMS Shoes as the little espadrille that could:

It could be the most popular shoe second to Uggs for American teenage girls (and fashion crossover dudes). The basic black TOM is now accepted as part of the uniform at schools nationwide in sun, rain, sleet or snow. Who knew canvas was year-round? The choices keep growing, from sparkly sequin and high wedgie editions to earthy vegan and even a new wedding collection.

It could be the most ingenious idea to date for a company giving back on a one-for-one basis to help barefoot populations risking cuts and sores, infections and disease from exposure. On April 5, TOMs raises awareness with its One Day Without Shoes, advertised in a celeb splashed video featuring uplifting images of shoeless throngs across the nation getting into the act.

And it could be catching on big-time as other shoe and apparel marketing execs look for sexy giving campaigns that attract younger generations seeking trends and causes. Ralph Lauren co-branded Rugby TOMS donating a matched pair with every pair sold; Element Skateboards introduced limited edition TOMS+Element shoes with a One for One skateboard benefiting the Indigo Skate Camp in Durban South Africa.

The TOMS movement began in 2006 when Blake Mycoskie was traveling in Argentina and discovered too many poor children were going without shoes. He started his company and returned to Argentina later that year armed with 10,000 pairs of shoes made available by TOM customers through the program. To date, more than one million pairs of new shoes have been issued to children thorough Giving Partners around the world.

Was the idea unique? Well, in 2005, a year before the trip to Argentina and following the 2004 tsunami in southeast Asia, Soles4Soles was born based on the concept of giving without receiving. Wayne Elsey saw the need and spurred on shoe makers to donate a quarter million of their shoes to devastated locations. A year later, another million were shipped to the gulf coast following Katrina. So in 2006, Elsey made it official and founded his non profit.

Shoes2Share sprung from a couple’s adoption of children from Haiti. Described as a grassroots ministry, its humble beginnings have involved distributing suitcases of shoes to relieve the plight of children and families in orphanages, shelters and rehabilitation and feeding programs. In addition to the Caribbean effort, the charity is now targeting children of fallen soldiers, police officers and firefighters.

More on the scale of the one-for-one platform, Payless ShoeSource has introduced the Good Shoe Project, partnering with World Vision to peddle a knock-off of the TOMS canvas boater, called theAirwalk Hope Shoe, for $19.99. For every pair sold, Payless will send a pair to children in Honduras, El Salvador, Costa Rica, Nicaragua or Guatemala. Pitched to customers as the “buy one, give one” deal, they offer not only hope to barefoot victims but to consumers who want to do their part to give without footing the $54-$80 bill for a pair of TOMS.

Eventually, TOMS range may widen as well to make giving opportunities more abundant, reaching kids on U.S. turf who want to get on the bandwagon . Perhaps then, the little espadrille that could will really be too cool for school!

Welcome to cub web publishing 101, the course for literary teens who go one further than Facebook to flex their writing muscles via blogs devoted to pop culture, fashion and eco activism. Green teen blogging is the new black. But just like the sport of crew, it takes time away from homework. You have to want to get your strokes from more than a bunch of A’s on a card. Meet a few of the new breed.

While most high school freshman call it a day after trudging through the mixed cauldron of Macbeth, ancient Rome and conjugating Spanish verbs, It’s Getting Hot in Here contributor Shadia Fayne Wood blogs about climate justice. At fifteen, she joined the World Summit on Sustainable Development – joining efforts to create the Official Youth Energy Policy Statement. She now helps coordinate a global youth journalism network, Project Survival Media and while keeping a personalblog and pursuing a freelance photography sideline.

At Teens Turning Green, founded in Marin County, CA., concerned teens from around the globe blog to further the goal of  eliminating toxic chemicals from individual lives. Part of the joy is using the art of writing to effect change.

Its co-founder, Erin Schrode, got her start as a “sustainability prodigy” at the website and it led to awards, testimony before lawmakers and paid writing gigs by the time she was sixteen. Now, at nineteen, she is a guest blogger on Dr. Greene and other sites, and has a healthy TTG cosmetic line promoted by Whole Foods.

“They become experts and have something to share, and that is why they are blogging and articulating their perspectives,” says Judi Shill, Shrode’s mom and co-founder of the site. Shill finds blogging isn’t always an entree into journalism but is a sign of the times of how teens today communicate. Still, she admits some of the writing is “extraordinary” – and you can tell who is taking it further.

Taking it further might require the kind of chutzpah displayed by freelance teen reporter, Daniel Wetter, a member of the Scholastic Press Corps who often reports on eco issues. The upstart also has a passion for sports and covered the winter Olympics at fourteen, despite not having proper credentials. That’s the makings of a network sports writer – no shrinking violet in the locker room! “Every day has a new story to cover which is why I love journalism,” he says, and proves it by seeking out stories in his Sacramento community and working for his school paper, The Growler.

And then, in a league of her own, is fashion force Tavi Gevinson. The 14-year-old haute couture devotee, who also covers second hand shopping, has been writing the consumption blog, Style Rookie, since she was eleven. Next stop, a collaboration with Sassy creator Jane Pratt to produce a new teen publication for what Gevinson calls “wallflowery teenage girls.” A profile on the suburban Chicagoan in The New Yorker, points out bloggers have only recently become important in the world of fashion (our own Amy DuFault has the green niche covered), and that Tavi at fourteen is already an old pro who adeptly navigates her away around the backstage of shows, as well as on the web.

“In seventh grade, I’d come home from school and take an outfit picture, post it, write a little bit about it, and write a little bit about the day,” Tavi told the magazine. “Now, I want to write more article-y things.”

Gevinson is able to crossover from silly to serious because luminaries such as Karl Lagerfeld believe the idiosyncratic, four-foot-ten chronicler has something to say, her fresh eye not “ruined by zillions of bad collections.”

Fresh perspective is nurtured at enrichment workshops for kid writers, such as ones held at 826 Valencia, founded by author Dave Eggers and educator, Ninive Calegari. Stanford University’s EPGY (Education Program for Gifted Youth) urges creative wordsmiths to leap into fountains on the Stanford campus and leave anonymous poems on random  bikes.   Lekha School of Writing in San Jose, CA., circumvents the red tape of publishing houses with an adjunct service of publishing works completed by its best students. Some make it into bookstores before the kid has a driver’s license.

Meanwhile, savvy school teachers also play a vital role in prompting talented writers to journey beyond the classroom to reach a wider audience, even if it means a letter to the editor of a local newspaper.

“If students write for an audience of one teacher, they often don’t feel motivated,” says Paul Totah, educator and Director of Communications at Saint Ignatius college Preparatory in San Francisco. “Real world publishing is the best way to inspire good writing.”

Totah, like many of the most insightful instructors, is a former writer who has been in the trenches.

“Whenever I applied for a job as a writer, no one cared what college I went to or what grades or SAT scores I received,” shares Totah. “They looked at my writing portfolio and hired me because of the quality of the writing. Students know they are judged by how well they write anything, from emails to memos to sticky notes, and that concise, powerful prose will serve them in whatever they pursue.”

Edgy and current prose also serves them when selling “article-y things”, catching the eyes of avid Tweeters. But beware of early burn out. It’s a tempting, yet tangled, word wide web we weave, a seemingly endless one at that. The advantage of publishing early comes with a requisite of restraint. Otherwise, prodigies like the Tavi Gevinsons of the world could slide dangerously into child star Lindsay Lohan territory, and risk being washed up before experience and wisdom takes their art to new heights.

Images: Extra Ketchup;  It’s Getting Hot in Here; The Style Rookie; Erin Schrode; Lekha Publishing

Jeggings: The season’s hot pants give new meaning to OMG! Optimum mailable garment? Over my girth? Omnipresent mod gear?

I could go on and on, but I will spare you, and simply rant about how the stretchiest jeans for a body-fluctuating planet are an inescapable fashion feature this fall – one  invading my space as I prepare my daughters for the school year. Enough is enough. I’m jegging for mercy.

New York Magazine calls it a “collision of trends” – fitted denim meets the leggings phenomenon. If you haven’t heard about it yet, you probably aren’t hip to the 2010 runway: Fifties calf-grazing skirts, lace-up equestrian boots, gauzy tunics and gypsy Gothic black tiered gowns. In other words, you in the dark!

“I’m so sick of salespeople explaining to us that jeggings are jeans+leggings and saying how great they are,” kvetches my high school-bound daughter, adding, “I’ve been wearing them since 5th grade!”

True, I was ahead of the times, and bought her a pair of black stretch  jeans with pockets back then, a style that conjured my own beloved 60s peddle pushers. Like jeggings, the black slacks + tights (slights?) were cute under little dresses.

Four years later, skinny-jean-worshiping teens and tunic-clad matrons are drawn to jeggings for the same reasons: They are even skinnier than skinny jeans because they adhere like Crazy Glue to the torso and limbs. They also fit all body types and help suck in the territory Spanx won’t go. They are great for layering and also serve to reveal an enviable hard body when flaunted sans the trusty tunic.

Forget color fads. Girl, give me some Spandex and poly knit that acts like them skinny pants, and I will work it in any shade.

The possibilities are endless, and so, jeggings have jogged their way to retail racks and rounders from Bloomies and Nordstrom (Hue makes them in corduroy) to American Eagle (second pair is 50 percent off), H&M and Target (cheaper but not as long lasting). Hollywood high-end Hudson signature denim designs with pockets can be had for a smidgen over $150. Plus-size brands can be had for a little over $12 at Walmart. Which to buy might depend on what will soon shrink the most, you or the jeggings.

And yes, they have crossed over, now available for the male set, appealing to fashionable fellas who don’t necessarily dance to classical music for a living. But you must be extremely bold. Stylish just isn’t enough when you are pushing the envelope with man jeggings, or rather, meggings.

The question remains: To jeg or not to jeg?

I say jeg if you dig tunics. Jeg if you are under 90 and live in a cold, foggy climate where layering is key. Jeg if you earn a living lifting ballerinas. Jeg if, like my daughter, you go to a dress coded Catholic school that permits any colored jeans other than denim. And, hey moms, don’t worry about over-jegging. Like Australian Uggs, first introduced as apres ski apparel, jeggings are probably here to stay. Eventually, they might merge with Uggs, and be reborn as bootjeggers, or maybe Juggs?

Image: Free People, Denimology, Forum Kiteout

Everyone knows it is bad news when thumbs are playing tiny keyboards behind the wheel, but other societal pains are now surfacing from chronic texting – namely carpal tunnel syndrome in teens. Ouch! That compulsion to get a rush from staying connected could prove an addiction more risky than good old pot or chocolate. Who knew?

Perhaps the mom of a 16-year-old Illinois girl named Annie Levitz, who was recently diagnosed with the nerve compression ailment by a rheumatologist who found the constant texting was causing the teen to lose her grip. The syndrome can cause tingling, burning and itching numbness in the effected area, which often is the palm of the hand from poor computer keyboards or other factors. Speedy texting demands great dexterity of the fingers and thumbs and obviously can take its toll.

Dr. Sofia Aksentijevich says the problem she found in her young patient is typical in pregnant women due to swelling, but a case like Levitz is unusual. Still, many fear it is the first in a pending epidemic because of the constant need for teens – and society as a whole – to exchange messages. Levitz’s mom says her daughter sends some 65 messages a day, averaging 2,000 a month, but now she has learned her lesson and is slowing down. One reason is the pain and inconvenience of having to sport wrist braces until she heals. The other is the negative press. She says she has been branded “Carpal Tunnel Girl” at Adlai Stevenson High School.

Images: Simon Doggett; Supports4less

Getting Purelled is the growing phenomenon of sanitizing one’s germ-infested mitts with the alcohol-based, Johnson & Johnson product known as Purell.

What’s in the name, William Safire students might ask?

Pure, I imagine, denotes the opposite of tainted, which in flu terms translates into ralphing, the runs and the unpleasant sensation of having been poisoned by Satan. Elle is French for she, as in, she is cruel that H1N1 Virus, widespread in 47 states now. Elle also is a swank Fifties ad-on, like ette for dinette. It sounds real classy.

I first heard the term the other day after ordering my teenage daughter to wash her hands after school. She’s a nail biter, more susceptible than most.

“I just got purelled,” she explained, exhibiting a jellyfish-like, residue bubble in her palm, which she kept afloat because she was undoubtedly fascinated by its staying power.  She has been studying chemistry in school. And I believe pathogen is one of her SAT terms.

Sydney and her peers happily take advantage of the economy, vat-sized, plastic dispensers of the waterless germ fighter stationed in every nook and cranny of her school, from the bathrooms to the cafeteria, library and gym.

At the campus’s recent Grandparents Day buffet breakfast, I watched an elderly dude mistake the jug O’Purell for carbonated water, carelessly pumping a shot into his cup with a puzzled visage. I gently intervened to set him straight. “You don’t want to drink that, Mister.”

The sanitizer, albeit refreshing upon contact with the skin, is not desirable as a beverage, no matter how much the Dunder Mifflinaholic, Meredith Baxter, of The Office fame ingests it for its alcohol content.

Getting purelled sounds ironically similar to getting paroled. In fact, a link exists when you consider hand purifying might prevent weeks off from school, a form of prison for parents who can’t do squat during the duration of the relatively mild but ubiquitously feared illness. I know as a mom who recently emerged from the trenches with her Swine Flu-infected youngest.

“Mommy, I’m bored! Mommy, stop working, I’m bored! ” I call it Purell hell.

In an aggressive no-tolerance approach, our school armed itself with endless stockpiles of the weapon at the beginning of the year hoping it might slow what it cannot prevent. While the CDC says there are  plenty of the H1N1 vaccines to go around, many parents apparently prefer that surefire killer, Purell.

“I definitely think it has slowed down the spread since contact between these kids is so constant, maybe each child is contacting 20 others throughout the day,”  says Dr. David Abusch-Magder, the head of middle school at Brandeis Hillel Day School in San Francisco.

At least the school, which has an impressive recycling and composting program, is using refillable containers. If you must invest is this much plastic, you might as well maximize its shelf life.

In addition to schools,  I’ve spotted the dispensers just about everywhere these days, from Trader Joe’s checkout counters to business offices, exercise studios and even in the cup holder of my own car.  The truth is there is no place to avoid the risk of contamination. Many organisms continue to thrive in my car despite the Purell.

Another truth is that we are creating a population of Purelled humans immune to the small percentage of bacteria resistant to the liquid. Bacteria that don’t die simply reproduce.

Let’s just hope we can conceive of  a way to upcycle all of those plastic dispensers once we are restored.

This is the latest installment in Luanne’s column, Life in the Green Lane.

Top image: The Local

Image One:Upyernoz

My lovely, celebrity-style dressing room is a spare bedroom I stole in the house, a spare that once housed a maple crib, green nursing glider and armoire of precious, spit-up stained Baby Gap dresses on mini-hangers.

Today, it’s my own little retail Mecca (organic, of course). But I do allow my daughters to visit and check out the blouses and shoe rack, and yes, even borrow on occasion. That sort of thing was taboo when I was growing up. Moms were moms.  Friends were the ones loaning stuff.

My own stylish mother (here with me and Grandma Zelda) towered over me at 5-foot-9 (not counting the beehive do) and always wore at least a size 14. She wasn’t a Laker like Julia Child and her sister, Dorothy, but when she got married, she wore flats so not to surpass 6-foot dad.

I hung out in Mom’s cavernous walk-in closet while she was away at luncheons. But no way could I actually borrow one of those gowns since they hung on me like a puddled curtain. I also was drawn to her off-limits, pointy, size-10 pumps, dyed to match her Jacky suits.

I was the fourth child and the runt of the litter – considerably shorter and smaller than the rest. (My theory is mother smoked a few more cigs and sipped a few more martinis when she was preggers with me.) But to be fair, I’m also considering the DNA link to my small, Polish ancestors.

Cut to my gorgeous teenage daughter with a great sense of style, who caught up with me in stature a few years back. I provide her with her own little Nordstrom Rack down the hall. I take full credit for cultivating her sense of entitlement since I have been most gracious about loaning her items, and have only kvetched a few times when they weren’t returned on time. She is very responsible and that counts.

Combined, Syd and I have a substantial inventory. I’m proud to say a chunk of it is the ski apparel we share for our annual Mommy-Sydney ski weekends in Lake Tahoe.

I was glad to squeeze into a pair of my daughter’s skinny jeans for my birthday outing with friends in August, and only felt a pinch after the second drink. You dirty martini, you!

How does the sharing work? Sometimes we fall for the same cardigan and it can make more sense during hard times to buy one to share and take turns – you know, like college co-eds on a strict budget. Call it the The Daughterhood of the Traveling Pants.

I also prefer to loan rather than buy her a dress for the countless B’Nei Mitzvah parties and other events she seems to attend. If she wears something of mine, it feels like new to her, even though I’ve worn it a dozen times.

This whole lending thing is why those smart couture rental shops, like Boutiqueville in Chicago, do so well. Why own something costly when you can rent for the occasion? When the high is over you send it back. Thank you, it was a great date, but onto other matches.

I should point out it isn’t just us girls sharing the wealth. My daughter also gets warm and fuzzy about wearing her dad’s old sweaters. I seriously think it brings her closer to him in a very sweet way.

Guess teens have been burrowing in oversize wool since Ann-Margret sang “How Lovely to be a Woman” in Bye Bye Birdie. He doesn’t mind her using the old sweaters, or at least, has never complained.

I got to wondering if other kids and parents are comfortable with community closeting or if most families are fiercely territorial about their closets. It certainly requires trust and respect, and the right kind of green deodorant.

I did a bit of research online and found little has been written on the subject. Hurray for me!

But I did stumble upon an interesting post on How to Share Clothes with a Cross-Dressing Husband.

Okay, the ground rules killed me: Killed me! They included keeping his paws out of your underwear drawer, making him replace anything stretched, torn or stained, and drawing the line when it comes to your most precious blouses or skirts (i.e. the ones with price tags still attached). The helpful primer also suggested shopping together to make sure you have the same taste. Oy!

None of this would work in my marriage. My husband is a large man who prefers high-wasted, baggy slacks to hip jeans. If he were a cross-dresser, he’d still be swishing around in those Dean Martin pants.

I do like some of his Oxford shirts and could see slipping into one after a post-sex shower and cocktail in bed, but since we don’t schedule those kind of Hollywood encounters (we don’t eat Chinese out of the box either), it’s all just another fantasy, like wearing my mother’s Yves Saint Laurent caftans.

I do have friends who are married to dainty men with little feet and excellent taste, and I could see trading with one of those fellows, swapping Indian tunics and Moroccan slides for a tux and velvet slippers when those Victor-Victoria mood strikes.

Of course, the well-dressed gay husband is top drawer when it comes to swapping, assuming he would cooperate. His rules might be too stringent for even me. I sort my closet by color but not by texture and season and don’t iron a thing. Crisp is not in my vocabulary.

No, I think I’ll stick with sharing with the girls, my wonderful girls, grabbing a wrap for Lauren when leaving for a party, pulling a dress for Sydney for a Bat Mitzvah. Selecting a hand bag that works. Maybe a trinket or earrings to tie it all together.

Does sharing benefit my daughters more than me? Well, naturally. It goes with the territory when you’re a consummate stylist and mother – who still misses dressing her dolls.

This is the sixth installment in Luanne’s column, Life in the Green Lane.

Main Image: In Style

Image One: Luanne Bradley

The album title is Fearless but the message is be flawless. So what if you can sing. Are you drop-dead gorgeous, model thin and loved by the camera?

When young female vocalists are over-styled to sell, something serious gets lost in the packaging: Raw talent.

I remember back in the day when that talent came in a very simple, green package. Contained within, the songstress: Joan Baez, Linda Ronstadt, Bonnie Raitt, Judy Collins, Joni Mitchell, Roberta Flack, Holly Near, Cris Williamson, Jennifer Warnes and  Carol King.

These icons of my generation were sensual, real women, clad in ribbed sweaters and peasant blouses. When they sang Tapestry, Heart Like a Wheel and Blue, we focused entirely on their voices, instruments, lyrics and message – in other words, the music.

Does anyone else out there miss the music? As I kid, I wanted to emulate these women, so I learned to play the guitar and focused on being a natural woman. Isn’t that the thrust of our evolution to eco?

Cut to Taylor Swift’s ubiquitous Romeo and Juliet Love Story video, in which the singer is cast as the skinny blond Disney princess – sewn into a fitted, medieval gown, tresses swept into an updo of ringlets, face airbrushed like a porcelain doll’s. Who notices the voice when the supermodel image is so captivating?

The message is clear: This is the fairy tale love story that can come with perfection. Not fight the war, protect the migrant worker, sit in a park in Paris, France, read the news and find yourself.

Not to single out Swift. Other popular videos bundle the entire hot Barbie brand: The boyish bod, the doll face, the air-brushed make-up, the expert hip hop dance moves, the skanky get-up, the seductive rubbing up against the back-up dancers, the mediocre voice.

And you better have it all, baby, if you want to go far – you know, selling product lines of phat made-in-China clothes, cruel platform shoes and your very own sickly-sweet scent at Macy’s. Ka-ching!

Of course the package sells but sadly the takers are young, impressionable teens, who croon about their lovely lady humps the same way we harmonized to Leaving on a Jet Plane.

My own over-exposed, naturally beautiful 13-year-old daughter won’t leave the house until she has molded her likeness to the popular culture ideal: Hair flat-ironed, blemishes concealed, skinny jeans tight and hitting the Converse high-tops just right, Lash Blast and eye liner caking the wide-eyed peepers and all body hair erased.

Recently, a shallow girl who was visiting our home played dress-up with my daughter on a weekday afternoon and opined, “You look super gorgeous, Sydney, except for your freckles, which are really ugly.”

After the put down, my daughter suggested she have her adorable freckles removed by laser. Teen fans are not conditioned to see freckles or other imperfections on those 20-something, supermodel pop stars. It might make them look, well, real.

My daughter is convinced flaws aren’t part of the package. She never sampled Carol King’s unruly hair or Joni Mitchell’s sexy overbite. She doesn’t know from icons who can actually sing, write, compose and perform without the bells and whistles, smoke and mirrors, butt pads, hair extensions and boob jobs.

Recently, Fabsugar asked readers to vote which pop star would they like to be, emphasizing which look appeals most to wanna-be singers (glamor of Christina, punk style of Pink, sleek R&B or Indie)?

I love one of the 55 responses: “I like to live a bit of a glam life but not too much…Christina’s way too much for me (plus the hair, the make-up and constant need of showing some cleavage, no really). I went with Natasha Bedingfield without hesitating: fresh, young and stylish. All I’m missing is that small detail: talent. Hmmm, where I can get some of that?”

Fergie and Christina certainly have talent but all that plastic and glitter conceals the woman behind the microphone.

The men behind the music, same as the Hollywood suits behind films, play down the talent and play up the packaging because it fools the audience in a plasticized society trained to see the fabulous sugar coating rather than the true ingredients.

Honestly, would a Linda Ronstadt even make it today? Can you picture a young Bonnie Raitt strumming those slide blues guitar licks on American Idol? Misogynistic Simon Cowell wouldn’t know what to make of little Bonnie’s intense, bottleneck style of jamming. Run, run, run, run, run away.

For the sake of my own daughters, I wish we could keep the great dance music but return to a day when female vocalists ruled with a good set of pipes and an inspirational message. Even if the message is the universal notion that love hurts, it is vastly more believable when sung by a flag burning, guitar strumming, globally-connected messenger with unruly hair, an overbite, and yes, even freckles.

This is the fifth in Luanne’s lifestyle column, Life in the Green Lane.

Images One and Two: Joni Mitchell

Image Three: Amazon

Image Four: Fabsugar