I’ve been working very late every single night; once a week peek-a-boo seems to be all I can manage…
So here is a peek at my Sunday: rediscovering that my Porter has a long strap and that such a little detail can make a nice difference to an outfit. Also rediscovering a pair of knee-high black socks I’ve owned since I was 14 (that’s 17 years! Crazy…). Getting away to share a cup of tea with the most gorgeous friend (and feeling wired for the rest of the afternoon because black tea just has that effect one me… Even though it’s supposed to contain so little caffeine it wouldn’t even wire a gnat…). And adopting a succulent that found a home in one of our favourite glasses.
Please don’t ask me about ‘The Fall of the House of Usher‘ – I started reading it when I was 19 and haven’t finished it yet (it may or may not involve a story about insomnia while holidaying in Lyon, and getting spooked more than I care to admit).
In the last 7 days, I turned 31 years and 31 days. I thrifted the perfect denim skirt for $4. I watched ‘The Hunt for Red October‘ for what must be the 15th time. I caught my first cold of the winter. I overslept my alarm twice. And according to this picture, I mixed patterns (stripes) once. Because my favourite warm scarves were both in the wash. Oh yes. I’ve been busy.
Madame Little Brown Pen – Nichole – is tackling the question of stripes and their predictable association with French fashion.
I’ve wondered about this with some disbelief because I never knew. I thought my wearing of stripes might equal an obsession with straight lines (check), but a badge of nationality?
Add your two cents to the conversation here. Or just visit and look at gorgeous pictures. Or both.
And I love this print of hats – which includes a béret, which I can’t get away with wearing without being called a cliché by Christian (he’s probably right).
Charles Bremner just informed me that I repeatedly broke the law in high school and onwards. By pilfering my father’s and brother’s closet and borrowing their clothes.
I quote: ‘France has never rescinded an old law that prohibits women from dressing in men’s attire without permission from Monsieur le Préfet.‘*
So will I get tackled next time I go through Customs to make up for years of civil dressing disobedience?
*Read the article here.
(And you can buy that pretty shirt here).
I am doing a tedious yet necessary sort through archived stuff (with the firm intention of chucking most of it. So far, my success rate is underwhelming: not enough chucking). I am in some disbelief about how bits of my life can be summed up or conjured by scribbled notes, or rediscovered objects like a napperon* I begged my mother to give me before moving here. I am trying not to get too distracted because I have a lot to get through, but the following things have stood out so far:
‘Thursday/Friday: max 2 buckets of water’ (note to myself on a random piece of paper)
‘You look like Red Riding Hood’ (my friend Megan’s scribbled assessment of my outfit during a German Expressionism class)
‘Sabine, can I see you briefly in my office this Thursday?’ (one of my favourite lecturers – because the man would start talking and end up so far away from his original point it always blew your mind in a slightly irritating way.)
I would kill to remember what the buckets of water were for, what I was wearing to German Expressionism class, and what that damn meeting was about.
On an unrelated note, one of my favourite childhood toys (‘Petit Agneau’ – that’s ‘Little Lamb’ en anglais) is ratty and gross and needs to ‘move on’ – that is killing me too. But he’s lost his nose and he is a shadow of his former white and fluffy glory. I’m this close to flying the French flag on my desk at half mast.
*Too lazy to look it up before – but my curiosity got to me. In the end I like the word ‘napperon’ better than its English equivalent so I’m leaving it in there. Now you know everything.
To put it to good use we just need to:
*Make up our minds once and for all whether we want children.
*Agree on names – which have to work equally well in both French and English AND have the same spelling in both languages (because I don’t want my children to have a multiple split personality thing going depending on which language they introduce themselves in), not end in -ie for girls (Christian’s foot down) or be Charles or Félix for boys (Christian’s foot again, based on mental connections with British royal family which he’s not fond of, and tv show ‘The Odd Couple’).
*Agree on number of middle names – 2 (my foot down, because in France we have at least that number).
*Agree on where we want them: Europe (yes, yes!) or Australia (far, far – from family and cousins – but current foreseeable country of residence).
You know what? That cute Paris map also comes printed on a bag. I think I’ll take that instead for the moment. And keep on bugging my sister to have a second baby :)
I weigh my ‘Paris weight’ at the moment: except that I don’t walk everywhere or live on the 6th floor without a lift (car, and 10th floor with lift is my life right now). Woot!
Seriously, it is great for a few reasons: I have more energy, Christian tells me I’m a skinny bitch (who doesn’t want to be called that? If you say no you’re not telling the truth). Ok, it’s great mostly because he calls me a skinny bitch.
Want to know what’s not so great? Hardly any of my clothes fit me anymore, and I have no time to go for a thrift to get some proper fitting clothes, as well as very little money (damn you dentist!). So I look like a hip hop artist with my pants hanging dangerously low, and I am at risk of pants-ing myself all the time.
I should explain I own only one belt and it’s very narrow – so it doesn’t really perform its task well. And borrowing Christian’s belts doesn’t really work: he has wider hips than I do (plus they look manly).
Just to be clear: if you run into me don’t think I’m trying to be all gangster. I’m broke and I only have 1 narrow belt. Maybe I’ll just stick to elastic waists and dresses for the time being.
PS: Christian can actually dead lift me above his head now. That doesn’t quite make up for the looming pants-ing and gangster look, but it’s close!
So, it follows I like this Poppet dress from her new summer collection, and want it.
More Poppet here.
PS: Poppet is the cutest name for a store. The owner also seems to be the cutest thing (aside from being a serious maker of darling clothes): she plays the banjo, particularly to her dog, and she rocks white socks with sandals. Yay!