Things you might see on the street

I love this - the Voguemobile! This is actually from Fashion's Night Out in Paris last month, but as it's now the beginning of Paris Fashion Week, I thought I'd post it now in honour of the occasion.   I just have this completely awesome fantasy of skinny, disdainful, perfectly-dressed Vogue editors driving around in the Voguemobile, fighting fashion crime wherever they find it... Hee!

Slightly misplaced generation

Okay, wait a minute - how exactly did it get to be the end of September already???  I thought the craziness of summer in Paris was going to die down a bit as we eased into autumn, but looking at my calendar, I realize that I have been to 17 social events in the past 27 days - no wonder I've been such a...how to put it?... slightly erratic correspondent, shall we say? 

But I have a theory about what's going on here - my circle of expat friends in Paris is all very Lost Generation: we have no money but we somehow manage to go out (hence the summer of picnics - relaxing in a park with a bottle of wine and a baguette is one of the cheapest and nicest things to do in Paris), we drink far too much, most of us are creative in one way or another, and we hang out together all the time.  But there is good reason for this - when your friends are expats, you never know how long they'll be here, because Paris is very expensive and can be difficult, and for one reason or another, people leave.  In just the past few months, Chica Libre (who writes the great blog of the same name, look for the link on the right side of this page) has moved to New York; Bronx Girl has gone back to Los Angeles; and the Southern Belle (previously known in this blog as Miss RA, but this nickname is better) headed off to Italy.  And as wonderful as it is to have them as friends wherever they are, it sucks that they're not still here.  So I think the moral here is to appreciate the people you're with, because you never know when they just might not be around anymore.  Or it could just be an excuse for us to all drink more wine...

Totally crap outfit of the week

Okay, I don't usually like to do two outfit-related posts in a row, but hey, it's a new week.  And really?  Really? What else am I supposed to do when the fashion gods throw something in my path that causes me to ask what -in the name of all that is good and holy and righteous and, you know,  not completely insane- is she wearing???   Sweetie, I like to rummage through the bargain bin at the local charity shop as much as anyone, but when you dig to the absolute bottom of the bin and find some monstrosity that's been there since 1972 because no one would even buy this fabric to rip up and use for dust-rags?  Well, it's probably a good idea to leave it there instead of actually putting it on your body and parading it through the streets of Paris.  Just a thought... 

I

Totally crap outfit of the week

Many years ago, when I was just a young whippersnapper (a word I think is sadly underused), my mother kept the spare roll of toilet paper beneath a cover, which was crocheted, and comprised many  layers of this crochet in different colours.  I always thought it was one of the most hideous things I've ever seen, and I had successfully managed to suppress that distasteful memory until I saw this woman on the street wearing something verrrrry reminiscent of it.  Really, if there's any chance whatsoever that your dress is going to remind someone of a toilet roll cover, you should probably not wear it.   By which I mean: set fire to it, walk away and deny you ever owned such a garment.  Ever.  I could say worse things, but her shoes are fabulous, and that always goes a long way with Miss K...

Dexter, is it? Nice to meet you.

Yesterday I went to check out the neighbourhood I may possibly be moving to - it's the 6th arrondissement, which I already know and love, but I wasn't familiar with the specific street that I might be living on.  This is all indefinite at the moment because the woman who is renting out the apartment doesn't want to show it to me until the renovations are done and it looks nice. Of course, being French, she can't just say that - her exact phrasing was that she wants whoever rents the apartment "to be seduced by it". Well, ooh la freakin' la.  Just show me the damn place already...

Ahem.  Sorry, getting impatient.  Anyway, the point is that I had a little wander around, and it all looks very promising.  Not only is the address is a two-minute walk from the fabulous Jardin du Luxembourg, but there are not one, but two spectacular patisseries along the way, and there's an awesome vintage market just up the road on Saturdays.  Sooooo, even without having been "seduced" by the apartment itself, I have been pretty damn seduced by the neighbourhood - I think I am pretty much sold on the place.  Unless, of course, it's a rat-infested broom closet and the next-door neighbour is a serial killer, but even then, I'd still give it serious consideration...

Drama queen? Moi?

Last Tuesday, my landlady informed me that her daughter is returning to Paris, and as a result, I am going to have to move out.  My initial reaction was Aaaarrrrggghhhhhhhh!!!  But of course, my landlady being as cool as she is, immediately followed up this piece of bad news by having a solution to my problem - she has a friend renovating a studio apartment in the (very cool 6th arrondissement), which is renting for less than I pay now, and the friend has promised to let me have it if I want it (which I am sure I will, but I can't see it until the renovation finishes at the end of the month).  

So it's all good, but that still didn't prevent me from having the mother of all meltdowns the next day.  I think it was delayed stress at the thought of moving, so I worried about that all morning.  Then I went to see about a part-time job, but of course it had already been filled (so in my mind, that turned into: I will never get another job here and will live in poverty and use up all my savings and become a bag lady), and then I went and sat in the park for a while and there were couples everywhere (so in my mind, that turned into: I don't have a boyfriend and I will never have another because no one fancies me because I'm a hideous hag and I will die alone and mice will eat half my face before anyone even notices I'm missing).  As you can see, I was having a serious case of drama-queen-itis.

But I'm over it now. Mostly...