Friday@Flore

I’m starting this week with the classic Paris shot. Please accept this as my apology for not being able to offer the real deal, because instead of heading the Café de Flore right now, I am sitting on an airplane with M, headed to Chicago to see our much-missed E for Family Weekend at the University of Chicago. there is no French term for Family Weekend. The idea is so foreign that I have to translate it, and then explain the concept, and they still nod at me vacantly.

Through the past six months I have collected more than photos. I have met charming people, like this lovely German couple who met in Paris as students 20 years ago. They were back for the first time, having left a young son at home so they can celebrate their anniversary.

Others don’t wait twenty years, at all. Others come daily, some even at the exact same time, settling into the same spot, sharpening their crayons and drawing their own conclusions of life @Flore.

 

And not everyone leaves the kids at home. this precious group was traveling en famille, Dad patiently watching the kinder while Mom did a little book shopping at L’Ecume des Pages (excellent bookstore next to the Flore and open until midnight, wahoo!!!)

And then there are those who are out and about exploring the boulevard with man’s best friend, les chiens that even the French understand is (wo)man’s best friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday@Flore

I feel like it has been ages since I’ve done a real Friday@Flore, so it felt great to out and back at my favorite haunt, eavesdropping on the Italian gentleman and his very elegant lady friend who was wearing a gorgeous dress that looked like it had walked off the Céline runway on to the Paris streets. She was from Colombia and they were both here to look at the FIAC contemporary art show. Beautiful people doing beautiful things. Sigh…

But the real people were fun to watch, too. The girls in their jaunty scarves, choosing bright colors to stave off the winter blues. It has been grey in Paris, folks. Very grey. So grey we’re all starting to feel like a pair of warm flannel pants rotting away in the bottom of the wardrobe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And just to give you an idea of how much cheering we’re needing, everyone seemed to lighting up the scene with a splash of red. Of the 36 photos I shot 1/3 had people wearing a bit of red. Who knew? Time to run out and do a little wardrobe cherry picking!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But even more popular than the color red, the true look du jour requires a scarf. Any scarf will do, from the big and bulky cosy look to the light jaunty bohemian style. Because its not just about fashion, it is scarf weather for one and all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And after all that fashion, I was happy to get this quintessential Paris shot, even if there was no red in sight.

 

 

Friday@Flore: undercover

I love fashion. Don’t ask me why, because I am hardly a fashionista and when you check out the fashion crowd it is clear, I don’t belong. Not that I really want to, because looking that great is a LOT of hard work. I know because I tried it for a while in the 80’s. Turns out that I am really not that great at it, although I still think I looked absolutely fabulous sauntering around NY city in a plaid Grandpa nightgown with a wide black, elastic belt, black leggings, Richelieu shoes, shoulder pads and a widow’s hat.

True fashion, not the silly things I threw together as a teen, is way out of my starving artist budget, and I can’t say I have the lifestyle to wear any of it if I ever did indulge. On the plus side, fashion has no fat and its calorie free, so as long as I am only looking, great fashion is a decadent treat I indulge in daily from time to time, just like chocolate!

And right now is prime time for a little indulgence. n case you haven’t heard, it’s fashion week in Paris. And if you don’t FB or Tweet, you couldn’t possibly know that I’ll be going to a fashion show next week. A real live, international fashion show for the designer Elie Saab. I am thrilled to itsy bitsy little pieces.

When I received the email telling me that I’d be an insider this year, well I was OVER THE MOON. What does a girl do when she is that thrilled? She tweets it, to tell the world. People tweeted back, “Whatchya wearing to the show?” “Aren’t you stressed about what to wear?” Zut! You’re killing my unabashed joy, here, people! I am usually pretty confident in fashion circles (I did learn something from the 80’s debacle); black top, black pants with a killer pair of CFM pumps, preferably in red or with some kind of metal attached et voilà! You’re good to go.

But this is Paris Fashion Week, even the French capitalize each noun, so all of a sudden, I was feeling intimidated. I decided to go check out what was happening at the shows.

Which is when my good friend Mary Kay from Out and About in Paris comes in. We met up after I’d already seen the scene at Guy Laroche and Belmain. She “just happened” to be at the Place Vendôme and I was heading to scope out the Barbara Bui crowd at the neighboring Westin.

“Let’s go in” Mary Kay suggested.

“What? Walk into the hotel? Just like that?”

“Yeah, I had no problems doing this last year at the Ritz when I saw Beyoncé.”

Ritz? Beyoncé? I am IN. And I was, everyone assuming we were just a couple of clueless American tourists or part of some buying team. We sat in the plush, cosy lobby, cameras discretely in their totes, waiting out the show. Suddenly the music stopped, the doors swung open and ZOOM, the two of us were bobbing up and down like two buoys at sea, with prime spots for shooting the fashion crowd as they left the show. Ab-FAb, I am telling you. I was so excited, I lost my voice.

I’ve noticed that the insiders leave the show with expressions of thoughtful contemplation, or frantically texting away on their iPhones. Not a lot of smiles to be seen, although mine was so daff looking I got a huge one for a stunning woman in fantastic glasss. This is BETTER than being a kid in a candy shop. Next year, MK, we’ll order champagne as we wait. The drinks are on me!!!

 

 

 

 

 

Friday@Flore

C’est la rentrée !!! That means the streets are being over run by fresh faced, young students heading back to school! Autumn is in the air, even if it is not yet cold.

Some of the teens look infinitely happy than the others, and very few look thrilled to be back to the books.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even having friends close by does not seem to brighten some faces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were a few smiles, but maybe because these are international students who don’t really know what they are in for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The girl trios were looking chicer and slightly less miserable than the rest. Really kind of makes you wonder what class they all just escaped.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish them all the best of luck and hope to see them later in the semester looking slightly less glum and gloomy!!!

 

ps – Across the pond, a certain American student is looking considerably less chic, yet infinitely more enthusiastic!!!

Friday@Flore with the IHT

Earlier this week my friend from Out and About Paris contacted to let me know that the International Herald Tribune was celebrating its 125 anniversary, and for the fête, they’ve invited readers to post photos of themselves reading the IHT where ever they happen to be. Then they gave suggestions, “Is that you reading the IHT at Café de Flore in Paris?”

 

 

 

OMG, she texted (not a direct quote, she is far more sophisticated in her discourse) you have GOT to do this for Friday@Flore. Et voilà an idea was born.

If you have not yet noticed, I am still kind of shy about asking people to actually stop so that I can take their picture. It chalk it up to a nasty experience involving me, my Nikon, a Masai warrior and his spear. I brought along two models from home, bribing them with free coffee and maybe a croissant if they were good.

And they were very good, reading their paper, discussing a fold out on The Art of Collecting for the Biennale des Antiquaires that is coming to the Grand Palais this weekend and drooling over the full page Longines ad, sporting the photo of the actor from the tv show, The Mentalist.

 

I had really wanted to show that is was the Flore, but for the first time in ages, it was not raining and the awning was drawn. Time for a better angle, which inspired me to approach these two rather dapper Parisiens and ask them to put down their papers (Le Monde et La Libération) to read the IHT for a minute or so. The both complied kindly and I felt that warrior ghost of mine take a strategic step backwards.

Of course, there are more important men at the Café de Flore, so I asked ‘my’ server to be part of the show. He was thrilled to comply, but his co-server was a bit disgruntled that we had not asked him. In the end, everyone had to have their turn!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I started thinking of the servers and when the first garçon may have spied an American catching up on international news with his IHT, which is when I learned that the two institutions were founded in 1887. They’re both turning 125 this year!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IHT and the Café de Flore!!!

 

 

Friday@Flore / Fashion Night Out

Vogue Fashion Night Out started with a long trip. That is, me, flying across the paved sidewalk in front of the Elysées Palace as the police prepared for the president’s arrival. My large SLR Canon flew out of my bag and I landed with full force on one knee. Several men dressed in a white version of this uniform came scurrying to my aid as E scraped me off the pavement and I tried to disappear in shame. They were a bit concerned, the presidentwas on his way, and there I sat, blood spurting from knee. They offered to bring me inside and clean me up, but I was too embarrassed. Can you imagine being too embarrassed to jump at a chance of a quick peek into the President’s palace? I was. And I was late to meet my friends Out and About In Paris and EllaCoquine for Fashion Night OUT!!!

Being the Mom, I coerced E into wearing her Grandmére’s 1956 Paris (not haute) couture dress. Stunning, chic and shockingly modern, n’est-ce pas? Since the ladies were no where to be seen I hobbled across the street where the gorgeous girls at Lancôme gave me a quick knee-cial, cleaning up the scrape. And then we were ready to go..

Another kid, with a much cooler mom, was lovin’ his hippy chic moment, posing for every camera that passed.

 

 

 

 

The men looked absolutely fabulous… even the one’s who had had no idea it was Fashion Night Out!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But the shoes are what fascinated me, so we followed them to Roger Vivier, where we came upon none other than the queen of Parisienne chic herself… Mme de la Fressange.

The room was full of people wearing their Thursday night best, looking fabulous as they enjoyed the live music, free drinks and tempting snacks. The staff looked like they were having as much fun as the rest of us.

blurry shot... I blame the champagne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Liquered up and ready for adventure, we headed out the door and up the Faubourg Saint Honoré where some fashion models were drawing a crowd. I’ll let you imagine how much of a crown and which model was stopped by police and asked to head back into the boutique she was working for….

 

 

ps… these lucky girls got our invitation to use for the rest of the night, as we headed home early.

Friday@Flore… Africa

Today we are in the Kalahari desert, marveling at the intricate beading and treated skins worn by the nomadic San, once known as the bushmen. This remarkable community has thrived living in some of the most extreme, hostile land on earth. During our stay temperatures have gone from -7 in the morning, up to 27 by afternoon. Today, the San live a modern life style, and dress accordingly, but they are proud to share their traditions and knowledge with visitors, offering guided visits of the bush. These visits hlp them pass their quickly dying heritage on down to the younger generation, teaching us how to find water, build a fire, and dress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Xarugke (pronounced Gah-rue-Ha) was our tracker in the central Kalahari. He’d sit at the front of our Land Cruiser, perched on a make-shift seat above the passenger side headlight, looking for tracks, and when he found something interesting, he’d hop down and start tracking, following winding lion prints through dense bush. He chose one afternoon to dress in his traditional springbok skin and share some of his culture with us.

 

 

 

 

Out on the Makgadikgadi salt pans thick woolen blankets protect against the frigid morning air, but they are quickly dropped as the sun rises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fashion is not a silly indulgence of the West. San women spend hours embroidering bright, cheerful beads in to their springbok skin outfits, and the men’s wildebeest tops. Steenbok is the preferred leather for the men’s handbags, and they are the only garment not decorated. Perhaps because they exist to tote around poison arrows to the hunt.

 

 

 

 

I even spotted a Loubou-shman fixing a lady’s antelope skin sandals while the others were digging for scorpion.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And jewelry has an important place, with gorgeous beaded pieces being worn around the head, wrists, fingers and ankles. Anything that can be adorned, without interfering with practical daily life, is made discretely colorful. Men get to wear a jaunty ostrich feather to complete the look.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Modern uniforms have become a status symbol that family members reserve for translators and guides, while their children get practical winter hats and wear sensible, western sneakers. It is nice to dress-up in one’s finest, but practicality rules the day, fashion be damned.

Friday@Flore

I am still at the beach, and it is time for the Fêtes de Bayonne. The fêtes officially started in the 1930s and they are related to the famous running of the bulls in Pamplona. Please don’t ask me how.

For the fêtes, everyone wears red and white, which makes it really beatuiful. Even the bullfights. Yes, I went to a bullfight. you can’t judge one until you’ve been. Now that I’ve been, I can tell you, they are horrid. The bull does not have a fighting chance. I saw one bull so hopeless that he ran full speed into the ring, right in to the stands. His suicide prevented the torador his prize, but earned him a standing ovation from me.

Today, the fêtes include bull fights, concerts, balls, the running of the calves, traditional Basque singing, with sing alongs on every corner, pelote (think Jai Alai) and a parade with floats. And beer. Copious amounts of alcohol has become ‘the thing’ at the fêtes.

The Basque love their people very much. So much that they have put together a really great transportation system of buses and trains so that the 1 million+ people who attend the fêtes each year are not tempted to drink and drive. In Hossegor their is a shuttle that runs every 45 minuets or so, doing the 20 minutes drive that leaves passengers near the train station, a short walk from downtown and all the action.

Mr French’s favorite part of the fête is the Pacquito. He does not participate, but he enjoys watching as grown men and women sit in a train, their legs around the person in front of them as they sing a traditional song (the Pacquito) and wave their hands forwards to backwards, above their heads, in unison. At some point, somebody stage dives on to the waving hands and is carried by the singers until the end of the line.

Friday@Flore

Friday@Flore goes to Hossegor and shows you the sights from the Café de Paris. The Café de Paris is an institution around here. Set in a classic 1920’s building, at the main intersection, the lazy come here to see and be seen throughout the day, then around 19h, the active set, just back from a day catching the waves, or cycling the hills, spills in to enjoy the live music and refreshing cocktails.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am really on holidays, so I only have a few moments to take the briefest of snapshots… but sitting here for a morning coffee before a ride along the coast, I was really wishing I had the time to write more about all the fashions being sported by Parisiennes on holidays.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even on their bicycles, they are looking fairly chic, yet sportive. Hossegor is a cycling town, with the town’s center reduced to one way streets and wide cycling paths.

 

 

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Those marine stripes I mentioned when packing are still in, although I was wrong about the Wayfarers. They have been replaced by Persols this summer. Any style will do, as long as it has the signature silver at the tips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then there were the market baskets that I loved coming, and going…. Mr French even got swept away in the fun and spotted this unique little bag, that he thought was fantastic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were even more, some sporting elegant leather trip, others boasting ethnic chic and a handful with polka dot cotton trims and bows.

Other stories, I didn’t get on film; orange or pink neon is THE thing to wear for runners this year; shoes, shoes laces, shorts or tanks, it doesn’t matter as long as it glows. The foutas Maroccan hammam towels are becoming more and more popular this year, being favored by the young surfer dudes as well as their grandmères.

Off to the beach. Bises!!!

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