After almost two months of not seeing the sun and living through constantly overcast skies, things are finally starting to brighten up here in Paris, and it’s made a crazy difference in my life. I’m seriously considering relocating during the winter months to a warmer climate—this year taught me a crazy lesson in seasonal depression.
Maybe it was daylight savings time this weekend (NOTE—Oops, it took me a while to figure out that DST doesn’t happen here until next week. I was off by an hour for a whole day!), but all of a sudden I feel like things are moving really quickly, almost in such a way that I feel like I’m already at the finish line (wherever that may be) looking back. This past week went by in a flash. My parents were in town, which meant living on an intense tourist schedule, ushering them around the Louvre and through the crowded streets of Montmartre, plus getting us to London for the weekend and back. Exhausting! This visit was weird because it was really the first time I’d ever hosted my parents and been living in a world that was entirely different from theirs … Keep reading »
As much as American girls may complain about the state of dating, sex, courtship, and guys, at least we can read the signals on our own home turf. (Whether we want to believe them is a different matter.)
But over here in Paris, where the word “dating” literally does not exist in the French vocabulary, understanding male/female relationships is all the more confusing. The issue here is that French men and romance are traditionally stereotyped (just like American women, or any romantic situations for that matter). The way things are “supposed to be”: If a French dude kisses you, it means he’s fallen for you, and there’s no pretense, and a week later you’re buying toothbrushes for each other and making love to accordion music on a bed of croissants. But, when things don’t magically become this clear-cut, the confusion sets in, and there’s no rhyme or reason to actions because … well, there’s no standard dating code of conduct.
Where this leaves me at the moment is wondering if I got the brush-off, or what comes next (if there even is a “next”). Keep reading »
It took me three days to come up with a witty and grammatically correct text to send to Scrappy Bathroom Boy (not the best nickname I realize), the guy I’d met at the Prescription Cocktail Club last Saturday. Why is it so hard to find my personality in this language? I wondered as I made revision after revision of the message in French. Finally, on Tuesday, I trashed my drafts and went for something simple and direct: “It was nice meeting you. Sorry, I just wasn’t up for the late night thing last Saturday, but would have liked to join you and your friends. If you want, maybe we can get a drink sometime this week.” Phew! My heart raced as I sent it off. I couldn’t help holding back a smile at the thought of finally going on a date. When was the last time I had been on one? It had to be early November with American Boy. November. Jesus. Keep reading »
In the wrong place at the right time: A new fashion exhibit lauding the work of Dior comes just in time for Paris Fashion Week (it begins next week), but finds itself at the Musée du Président Jacques Chirac in Sarran, a good 300 miles south of the fashion capital. The show, “Dior: The Creative Passion,” looks tres cool and covers the couture house through its history, taking a look back at the iconic dresses, sketches, and perfume bottles, as well as tracking the progression of head designers (starting with Yves Saint-Laurent up to today’s John Galliano). We’d love to get lost in this exhibit and fall into a make-believe world, getting as close as possible to feeling what it would be like to live in Dior. (That way, we wouldn’t have to rob the Madison Avenue boutique for the experience.) Check out more images after the jump. [WWD] Keep reading »