Wandering Paris

So. What do you do with a week in Paris? Everything you can, right??? I’ve written about it more than a few times, and you might be surprised that my previous posts have usually focused on details — a clock above the road, the beautiful patina of a fish-themed, french bulldogs and food markets so enticing that you swear never to eat in America again … you get the idea.

But today I’m going to wax less poetic and dive into clothes shopping. Oh who am I kidding? It’s Paris and it’s clothes from Paris. Poetic to the max.

I’m pretty sure you can find anything, and I do mean anything, at the Paris vintage shops. But as much as I love them, there are days when I find that cruising the booths is very much like discovering an old pile of my own clothes that I somehow forgot to drop off at Goodwill. Years ago. Maybe decades.I’m drawn to them, sure … but do I really want to wear them again? 

Or more to the point, could I?

I can picture a well-coiffed woman wearing this dress or that floppy skirt, and indeed she does look fabulous. But alas, the It Girl in the body-clinging frock is 22 and weighs (almost) 95 pounds. Let’s face it, she’d look great in a roll of paper towels. Me? Not so much. I long for a dress that slinks its way over every bulge, crushing lumps like ice cubes in a blender.

They say that Paris women are sleek because they eat only when they’re hungry, and even then they manage to stop at a normal amount quite devoid of gorging. Can that actually work? What if you’re always hungry? What if you’re nervous? What if you need some extra energy? In a city with fresh croissants spewing their buttery breath at every corner, and I do mean EVERY corner, who can resist? 

French women, that’s who. Don’t ask me how.

I wonder if they teach a class in that . . . . And will there be treats?


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