Tag Archives: Fashion

Packing for adventure…

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I may have mentioned at some point that Mr French and I are very busy packing, eager to be away on holiday. After the beach we are headed to more sand, this time along the banks of the Boro river and in the heart of the Kalahari desert in Botswana, Africa. Which kind of explains why we wear so distressed about his missing passport. Mr French loves the desert and I have been wanting to visit the kalahari ever since reading the Cry of the Kalahari while trekking through East Africa 19 years ago.

One of the rules about traveling in southern Africa is that you don’t wear black, or dark blue. Unlike Paris fashion rules, this is a rule to follow, unless you’re dreaming of being a princess à la Sleeping Beauty. Tse tse flies are drawn to these colors like bees to a honey pot. Bees sting. Tse tse flies painfully chomp out bits of flesh and carry the sleeping sickness. White colors attract seem to disturb wild life, as well. To say that I was fairly motivated to avoid any problems would have to be the understatement of the century. The last time I ignored the African fashion codes, I had to be medi-vaced to Nairobi where I spent a week fairly unconscious in the Aga Khan hospital before being air lifted back to Europe. I set to packing.

These guys do NOT respect the dress code

Turns out my closet reveals a disconcerting lack of imagination and what may be an over attachment to the dictums of fashion. Tanks tops, t-shirts, sweaters, and cotton pants; I need them all for this trip and in my closet they are ALL black, dark blue or white. Not a bit of red in the bunch, forget about a nice neutral like khaki. The only bit of color that I seem to own is limited to some brightly colored tops which would be completely in appropriate for the bush. I needed to do some shopping, preferably some very cheap, sensible shopping. I head to Decathalon, where polar fleeces are 9€ and cheap T-shirts come in packs of three. I am almost ready to go…

On the packing list the travel agent suggests on formal outfit, but I won’t be taking off my protective gear, so what to do? I remember my poncho from the Poncho Gallery. The Poncho Gallery was founded by a pair of Parisienne sisters who developed a serious crush on ponchos and wanted to bring them back into fashion. Their Carré is avaiable in a wide range of colors, including a lovely multi-tomed beige/tan! A simple square of the most luxurious cashmere, the Carré falls in elegant folds once slipped over the head, and it is sure to hide the grungiest safari wear. I head directly to the shop, where there is a soldes and after fifteen minutes I find a dress enough solution that I’ll be able to wear in Paris, something elegant, that will protect me from Mma Nature. I am ready to go.

 

Poncho Gallery / 11 rue de la sourdière Paris 1e / 01 40 20 99 40 / (M) Tuileries

It’s official

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Wahoo!!! Mr French has a passport!! We’re going on holiday after all!

Its time to get packing. Our first destination is Hossegor, a gorgeous vacation village built around a marine lake in the 1920’s. Nestled between the foie gras eating Landes region and the explosive (sometimes literally) tapas loving Basque region, this is surfer territory. An ironic destination for someone who left the Santa Cruz mountains of California, in search of city life. We come here every year, pedaling our dune bikes between the tennis courts and the beach, where we boogie board. And then, we eat.

So what exactly does a Parisienne pack for her French holidays? Her Carte Bancaire, bien sûr. Okay, that is a joke I made up, inspired by the horrible J-A-P jokes of the 1980’s. The ones that accused me of making reservations for dinner.

But seriously, if she is very lucky (I’m not that kind of lucky) an Eres bathing suit and some more sports-y beach wear. A pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers are probably stuffed into her market basket cum beach bag. Another favorite beach bag is the freebie given at the pharmacie when you buy Avene sunscreens. When not hitting the beaches, she may be sporting the practical but stylish Upla bag, or an even more practical and completely functional Bensimon bag. If she does not have a Bensimon bag, it is likely that she is wearing their very affordable, quite simply, yet annual popular canvas sneakers.

And she is probably throwing in some navy blue. And white. And a combination thereof. I blame it on the traditional navy and white striped, St James Breton fishing sweaters, which have been popular since the 1850s. Fashionable Parisienne‘s strictly follow the “never wear more than three colors at once” rule, even on holiday, and this one single, although historic garment seems to dictate the Parisienne‘s vacation palette year in and year out.

While once just a heavy wool sweater worn to survive the elements, you’ll now find marine stripes in every collection, from the luxury houses to discount chains, available in an entire range of styles; from heavy wool to nearly transparent cotton, blue with white stripes, or white with blue stripes. When not on a sweaters, the stripes can be spotted on everything from dresses, to tank tops, canvas bags to beach towels. Only pants seem to be spared the Breton sailor look, and that’s probably because they manage to make even the Parisenne derrière look wide.

For her feet, she has probably thrown in a pair of Les Tropeziennes, an affordable knock of of the classic K Jacques still being handmade in Saint Tropez. And her Aigle rainboots, because no matter where you go in France, rain is always possible. Anything is possible, really.

UPLA

Bensimon

 Saint James

Friday@Flore

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Mom-esse Oblige, I need to make an announcement:

E has passed her BAC. With Mention Bien, no less. Kudos, all around. 

Really not bad for a little yankee with two anglo parents. In honor of her success, here is a look at what French teens are wearing lately.

This girl was so stylin’ I couldn’t resist. And those shoes! I simply love those shoes. So much going on, I didn’t get to a change to ask who designed them, but I did manage to get a close up…

And with those wide heels and platform sole they are infinitely more walkable than one would imagine. They’re almost downright practical.

Most girls were considerably more practical, sticking to the strappy sandals that are so popular these days. And sailor blue. From marine stripes, to polka dots, with a bit of floral thrown in, everyone had a hint of blue, even the boys in their jeans. Of course those champagne glasses are merely optional.

Back to the Flore, I spotted a trio coming my way. Lovely girls, lovely dresses, but the rubber soled shoes were a dead give away, even before I heard their yankee twang. Not that it is a problem, they look beautiful, and were incredibly happy to be exploring Paris. Just an observation.

Then along comes this pair and you simply know they’re local girls. Probably from the quartier. So yes, it is time to go and get your black leather jackets out of the storage and start wearing them again. or pass ’em on to your teens…

And, just like their Moms, teens tend to travel in packs. Walking two by two, three by three; in large groups, or intimate couples. It’s girl time !!!

When they’re alone, they are none too happy about it. Of course, mobile phones have made it possible to express this displeasure and share the moment all at the same time. Even annoyed, this young lady looks like a summer holiday.

 

Friday@Flore

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This was the first Parisienne to come along my way, she looked so chic and fashionable, that I wanted to be her, and despite the soaring temperatures, she looks so cool.

The rest of us were not necessarily fairing so well, everyone looking slightly wilted thanks to a drastic temperature change. It is summer at last and I headed out the door expecting lots of summer wear.

What I say were legs. Legs everywhere. Poking out of skirts, popping out of dresses. From weekend wear to office attire, the Parisiennes were showing their gams. With lots of them having remarkably toned, tanned legs. Now how did they get those tans?

The ladies who look so relaxed and cool after a day at the office astound me and send me into reveries about where they are headed. Clearly she is all dolled about for someone. I love the mix of casual canvas heels with the taupe Birkin bag. As my friend in San Francisco says, “I want!” And she smelled fantastic as she breezed past…

Hermes not withstanding, the absolute MUST HAVE fashion accessories of the day, was, without a doubt, a large overnight bag. Parisiennes are going away for the weekend to get the most out of the summer temps, or perhaps to escape the Paris grey. And while a wheelie bag maybe practical, the vintage style Louis Vuitton almost smells like grandmère and summer weekends long ago.

Red hair and leopard prints. It seemed like everyone was going out tonight to celebrate the season.

Intricate back, gladiator sandals and maxi skirts. These girls seem to symbolize the recent fashion scene, as they rest, strategize and prepare for an evening in the sweltering heat, serving the über-trendy jet-set crowd on the ultra-cozy terrace of La Societé, one of the more discreet addresses of the Costes collection.

Friday@Flore

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Thank you for tuning in. I hope you enjoyed yesterday’s musique…

We had about two hours of sunshine yesterday and it came just after a tremendously dramatic thunder shower with lightening bolts and deafening echos. As soon as the skies cleared, Parisians came scurrying downstairs the true city rats that we are (Ratatouille was no accident), gasping for light and fresh air.

All this gloomy weather has Parisiennes scrambling for a hot summer look that will keep them warm. Red is the solution; it gets the heart rate up and inspires love, like spring is supposed to do, if it ever arrives. Any shade of red, from bright fuchsias to deep rusts will do, on any garment; from jackets, to handbags, scarves to shoes.

Red pants are as IN as ever, I suspect that there are closets full of red shorts just waiting to hit the streets, if those clouds ever clear. In the meantime, it goes perfectly with that glass of Burgundy, since it is still too cool for a proper rosé.

When red is not available, every Parisienne is sure to have some summer whites in her closet. But even with long pants, despite the low temps, girls have succumbed to the comfort of open toed shoes. Damn the rains, something had to come off.

And then there are the pragmatists, accepting the weather for what it is, and looking absolutely swimmy in this fall’s coming fashion. Leather jackets, and low boots are still in, soon to be joined by the faux Chanel blazers on offer at all the fashion houses that market to the fresh and the fashionable.

And now a word from our sponsors; I would like to thank Lindsey, from Pictours Paris for reminding me to bracket my shots over drinks last Saturday. Such a “duh” moment, its embarrassing. Milles mercis!

Shine bright

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When a good friend of mine was made redundant at work, the replacement agency that was helping her find a new job actually hired a fashion consultant to take clients shoe shopping. Shoes, according to the experts, are the most important thing you wear when going on a job interview in Paris.

I found this little bit of trivia amazing. I shared it with Mr French and the Parisiennes. But, of course, they concurred. C’est normal. If someone does not take care of their shoes, beh, they are just not serious. Which explains why even the seven year olds in the playground have perfectly polished shoes. My daughters’ friends; average teen boys, all have dress shoes. And wear them on a fairly regular basis. Its a national habit. But having nice shoes is just the beginning.

Shoe care starts immediately upon leaving the shoe store, when Mr French asks if we have waterproofing spray at home. At first, I thought this was a joke. He buys some fairly expensive shoes, and is worried about waterproofing? Don’t you buy them that way and the stuff wears off with time? Non ! When you buy a pair of shoes in Paris, you’ve got to waterproof them before you can ever wear them. And then waterproof them again, every 6-8 weeks for the rest of their lives.

And since they are nice shoes, they will most likely have leather soles. The problem with leather soles is that they are fragile and need to be protected.  You’ve just spent several hundred euros on a pair of shoes, you would think, you would HOPE that they were ready to wear for years to come. But no, after wearing those brand new, gorgeous leather soles exactly five times you are off to the cobbler’s protecting the soles and putting taps on the heels.

At last, you can finally enjoy wearing your shoes; sashaying through the city streets, crossing your legs ‘just so’ at the local café, bobbing your ankle at exactly the right rhythm to appreciate your stunning footwear and generally feeling chicer than the widow of the deposed president of a tropical island state. But wait. Is that a scuff over your left pinkie toe? Damn, did that stumble in the paving stones eat into your leather-lined heel? One day on the town and already you need… a shoe shine.

Fortunately, that is when Frenchmen come into the picture. On any given Sunday night, men throughout the city are taking out their shoe shine kits and getting ready to polish their shoes. I know CEOs of multi-national corporations with full time help who choose to shine their own shoes. Bankers, lawyers, the waiters at your favorite café, and even the gentleman who delivers my groceries, shine their shoes. Every week! “Its relaxing” they claim. “I enjoy it.” They insist. Whatever. I, for one, am happy to contribute to this relaxing moment by adding some shoes of my own. And of course, every morning as he heads out the door, Mr French stoops down, polishing cloth in hand, giving his shoes their daily caress before I get my kiss goodbye.

There is a specific routine to proper shoe shining, but in France, it is like the BBQ, almost exclusively a man’s realm. I suppose I could get all self-righteous about women’s equality, and demand to know more, but really, I’d rather let them have this one. Shine away, Monsieurs! Shine bright!

For everything from animal skins to heel forms to make your own shoes, or just a bit of polish in any color imaginable/ BHV

Friday@Flore

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The fashion at Flore is fantastic, but what first drew me to this café was the history. Once there, I loved the vintage ambiance; mosaic floors, intricate glass light fixtures and the traditional green tables. Oh, and the dame de pipi. Not many places still have a bathroom monitor, but the Flore does, and she sits there, making sure the restrooms stay clean demanding a few centimes for your visit and offering candy as you leave. Makes you feel like you’re 7 years old. I kind of liked being 7.

But I started coming back for the people. Like Dominique, a waiter, but also a photographer who keeps a bird call whistle in his mouth, spontaneously spouting zippidy-doo-dah’s that leave visitors looking towards the sky, trying to identify the flock overhead. I get a infantine thrill when he does this in the inner terasse, and clients swoowh down, protecting their heads as they look for the renegade sparrow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I am not alone in my fetish, these men are stereotypically impatient Parisiens who are not really familiar with the concept of waiting in line.  And they are regulars, so normally, they’d expect special treatment, but the tables on the terasse at the Flore are on a first come, first served basis. Trying to jump the line may earn you the wrath of the staff and that is a daunting thought, so they stand there and wait. And wait…

Here is someone who never has to wait. Bernard-Herni Lévy is France’s foremost philosopher. Yes, being a philosopher is actually a career in France and Henri is famous for doing it while wearing a bespoke white shirt, wide open to the sternum. Even while visiting war torn Libya (he played a not insignificant role in the tear). He is also famous for his sex symbol girlfriend Arielle Dombasle. He is so cool that we just call him BHL.

Then there are all the people who just look famous, even if they’re not.

Today was a particular fan-ta-bulous day at the FLore, because we had a brief window of sunshine and the girls were out in their most colorful finery, thrilled to be wearing summer cloths, even if it was for just 1/4 of the day.

The End.

Ode to Corey Hart

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My fashion frames

Well, not really, but like him, I am obsessed with sunglasses.

When we first moved to Paris I owned a great pair of lemonade-green Ellen Tracy’s with a serious 90’s flair, a ne plus ultra pair of Giorgio Armani’s from the 80’s and I was soon offered a hipster-cool (before hipsters were cool) pair of blue tinted Italian shades. I lacked fpr nothing, but I really, really wanted these very great tortoiseshell Persols. Really, wanted them. Some times I went to sleep thinking about them, petty girl that I am. But as my daughter’s strict Irish nanny would say, “I want gets you nothing.”

Found frames

That spring I chaperoned my daughter’s class to the Luxembourg gardens to watch Brazilian dancers perform for La Fête de la Musique. As we strolled through the park, chatting and herding kids, a teacher came up to a group of us declaring “Tiens, look what I found!”
She was holding a pair of “my” Persols!
“Wow,” I declared, “those are excellent glasses. Perhaps we should bring them to lost and found?”
“Are you nuts?” scoffed la parisienne, “that would be giving a gift to the park staff, they’ll just keep them for themselves.”
With the thousands who passed through the park each day, I kind of saw her point. “Well,  keep them, they’re awesome.”
“I already have this model. Do you want them? If not, maybe Catherine is interested.”
Ethical dilemma. I was still thinking we should return them, but there was no ‘we’ and if I didn’t accept the offer, Cat would. “Oui, merci” I gulped.

Vintage frames

A few years later I mention to Mr French that I love the perfectly designed Tom Ford glasses that seem to have crossed the bridge of every fashionable nose in the city. He thought I had a point and start talking about less sporty, more stylish options. The Ford model was just a bit too popular. We headed to JLC which specializes in fashion forward models from fantastic designers who are discreet with their logos. Most of their collections are not household names. I tried on a pair of Barton Perreira Centerfolds and it was clear I’d found the perfect fit.

Then I started running. Buying new sunglasses struck me as frivolous, but my mind would wander, telling me that a classic pair of the ubiquitous, yet cool Wayfarer Ray Bans would be ideal. M was in Montreal for the summer. At 13, she had some very trendy blue plastic Ray Ban aviators that she loved. She called from grandmère‘s. “Mom, Mom… we were at Walmart shopping for beach towels when Grandmère found a pair of Wayfarers under the display stand. She said that it was no use turning them in to lost and found, they’d only keep them for themselves.” Yes, grandmère is a parisienne, born and bred. My daughter came home from her holidays with a fantastic souvenir for Mom.

After all that, it is somewhat shocking that I still bought another pair of sunglasses. I was strolling the Marais when a pair of Audreys caught my eye. I had never seen a pair of sunglasses that looked so much like the pair Audrey Hepburn once wore. I went in and learned that I was not far off from the truth. Oliver Goldsmith made glasses for Audrey in the 60’s. Recently, his grand-daughter set-up shop in London and started selling Granddad’s designs to addicts like myself, looking for a great vintage look that never grows old.

THE STORE/ JLC

Friday@Flore

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Last week New York, this week Clichy. FindingNoon has been busy this month. This week I am Clichy parachuted in for freelance gig writing some copy. This stuff is confidential until it goes live, so I can’t tell you who I am working for, but I can say that I’ve been tackling beauty products. Due to some irrational shyness and an incredibly dense workload, I don’t have “my” café just yet.

Instead of a rerun, I thought I’d share a theme I didn’t get to use from previous shoots at the Flore. BFFs get ready, this post is for you. I am not the only one who thinks that Paris is an extremely feminine kind of town.

And while the fashions these girls are wearing are decidedly too warm for the gorgeous spring weather that finally came, better late than never this year. You may notice a common thread.

Because everyone, with a few saintly exceptions, is wearing red this spring. Rain, or shine. Sweaters, scarves, and even, or especially jeans.

Red jeans, in every tone from deep bordeaux to dust pink, for women and men, Parisiens are dressing in warm tones, just the opposite of the New Yorkers and their obsession with blue.

Others are less discreet, opting for the all-out red look.

And then, there are the rebels, aschewing (wrong word, poor spelling… did I mention the work load around here?) red altogether, sticking to traditional black. Because after all, nothing flatters a woman more than being with her friends.

PS, Friday@Flore is developing quite the fan club, with this group of Paris regulars showing up to share a coupe and watch me at work. I love, simply love the support. It was lovely ladies. Thank you!

 

 

Jerome Dreyfuss

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My New Yorker has lots of Jeromes in her life. There is a man in her yoga class, our crazy hair dresser and her favorite handbag designer, Jerome Dreyfuss. Some how she has gotten on to this Jerome’s VIP press sale list and being a smart girl, every now and again, My New Yorker will drag me along, telling me that I need to benefit from the sale to freshen up my handbag wardrobe.

Jerome works with luxury leathers; lamb, calf and snake skins that have been hand tanned, then colored into rich earth tones with natural dyes. He creates practical, modern bags with an elegant art deco touch. Practical, as in mini-flashlights on a leather lanyard so that girls can find their goods, pockets inside and out and double straps that fit the shoulder or the elbow. The bags come in a large array of sizes, making them perfect for everything from lugging your sportswear to the gym to a swanky night out clubbing. Small evening bags are even kitted out to double as wallets, which has been very helpful on naughty weekends with Mr French: fits perfectly into my Billy when out visiting châteaux or exploring museums for the day, then transforms into a sexy, chic bag for our nocturnal adventures.

Last week I brought Oscar with me on holiday to New York City. I loved that I didn’t see a gazillion other women sporting the same bag and was happy to have it with crowds as diverse as the after-work, yuppy business folk sipping cocktails on expense accounts at the Mandarin Oriental to  the hipster crowd as I worked my way through the Brooklyn flea market in Williamsburg.

Giving us girls a bit of fantasy, each model has a name which is engraved inside. Before heading out I get to play master of my destiny, deciding whether Oscar or Billy will be joining me for the day (or night!)

Jerome Dreyfuss

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