After attempting to follow my resolution for 2013 which was perfecting the Parisian me in the Nouvelle Année, I determined the following: becoming Parisian demands diligence and devotion. Staying Parisian, on the other hand, is a lifelong quest that requires finesse and a cunning talent for stealing cabs in the rain (I use my sculpted elbows and my Alexandra Sojfer couture umbrella as ammunition).
With a New Year en fleur, it has come to my attention that preserving my faux-Parisian identity will take more willpower than opting for a glass of Chablis over my usual full-bodied Chianti. My straggly, soiled hair, lipstick stained teeth and Wednesday Adams wardrobe are no longer suffit! Thus, 2014 is the year where I will transform from feigning French to remaining French.
Paris is a transitory city, people come and go, designers are replaced, taxes climb and the Rive Gauche is seemingly so deux mille treize. As a true Parisian it is vitaI to keep up with the trends, therefore, I must learn to enjoy copious amounts of caffeine in areas solely dominated by the bohemian bourgeois. At Ten Belles, near the Canal Saint Martin, I shall sip decorative cappuccinos at an American-style coffee shop while announcing to the scruffy barista that our nation’s cultural imprint is slowly slipping through my French manicured hands. He will recommend me to his manicurist at Carita, because he claims that she is the best. I will thank him profusely, speaking to him in an unwavering Pepé Le Pew accent. The barista will offer me a sausage roll, and I shall gladly accept, devouring every morsel and ordering three more **FYI, since I am Parisian I will never get fat.
Mastering la vie bobo, I will then arrive back at my apartment on the Avenue Victor Hugo and rest my tired feet, kicking off my last season Valentinos as I recline into my bathtub shaped canapé. Lounging in the afternoon is very French and so is love. This will inspire me to call up Jean-Luc or maybe Gaston, no, Pierre. I will call Alexandre, mon chaton (note to self, use more endearing French terms in 2014), and pretend to be a French courtesan named Emmanuelle. He will laugh and ask to take me to see The Titanic in 3D at Le Royal Monceau. I will suggest to see something more…French, to which he will probably reply “I am sick of the French.” To which I will retort “Then you must be sick of me” confident in my Parisian powers of reasoning.
The key to staying Parisian in the New Year is to bath in self-awareness; do not let yourself be dictated by clichés and do what is best for you. If you do not feel like taking a bath (following in the red-soled footsteps of your chic Parisian predecessors) then spray yourself with N°5. From all of us at Paris Girl Couture, Bonne année!