Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Mmm, height.

The popularity of platform heels is astounding, really. Why wear a pair of shoes that are painful and innapropriate? Answer: because they are fabulous. These Louboutins are drop dead gorgeous. I have actually dropped dead. I've been lusting after a pair of platforms for months now and have finally got my hands on a good sturdy pair that bears a fine resemblance to the redsoles pictured here. Unfortunately, mine are no-name but still do the trick. Well, I shouldn't say no-name. The label is "Unlisted" and looks like a crappy teen-knockoff brand if I've ever seen one. Ahh well. Perhaps I'm just a crappy teen knockoff girl myself. You are what you wear. On your feet...

Monday, September 25, 2006

Dear Fashion:

I love you, but let's agree to disagree on one thing: ankle boots.
I don't care how "cool"you are, or how many Christian Louboutins are featured on the Derek Lam runway - I will never like you. Lots of perfectly good fashion folks complain about how leggings of all things, break up the proportions of lovely long legs. How can you not agree that ankle boots do the same? Both articles end in a stark line across ankle, chopping up your leg line as if they were Freddy Krueger. But let's not turn this into a rant. As long as ankle boots and I can come to a compromise, life will be fine. They get to live in a land full of happy candy along with tapered jeans, scrunchies and Uggs and my vision gets to be free and clear of all fashion blight.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Shout Out From Fascists

If any of you have been to Final Fashion or La Femme lately, then you would probably be aware of the September 2nd fashion section of the National Post featuring fashion bloggers. I was quite happy for the both to be featured in a nationally circulated newspaper until...I realized that my website was there as well! Though this picture that I stole from Danielle isn't clear enough for the "" to be obvious, go to her post for proof that right-wing fogies may or may not have seen my url. Unfortunately, the people who read the National Post are not looking at the fashion section...

Yesterday I received a package in the mail from the sweet French woman who took me shopping in Paris. It was the Cartier scarf she had promised to send me! After I had bought the Gucci wallet she asked me if "nice things like that made me happy". When I replied yes, she said "The it would make me very happy to give you nice things" in cute broken English. It's pink with a chain pattern and smelsl authentically French, like perfume and cigarettes. Needless to say I adore it! Being a semi-published author and the owner of designer accessories, life in Canada is definitely looking up.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

September 7th & 8th in Paris

September 7th, 2006: Today's most notable activities involved secondhand designer stores. I saw two, and both times my jaw dropped. For the first time in my life I saw designer things that I could blatantly afford, even though my budget might be blown post-purchase. The problem is, I am going to H&M, Collette, Printemps and Galeries Lafayette, all epicentres of French shopping. So I started to weigh options. Why do I want this? For some status brand name? What do I want status for? But the one piece will last my entire life! But I want more clothes than less! But I already have lots of clothes and no designer things (minus an Yves St. Laurent belt)! *sigh* I hate fighting with myself. No side ever wins because the arguments are always too powerful...

September 8th, 2006: Mon Dieu, what a day! May this date go down in (personal) history as the day that Isabel took Paris! In the morning, I was feeling distressed after last night's conscience argument and had no idea where my money would lead to. I was thrifty at H&M, buying only a cute necklace and a cream coloured headband with a bow on it. Zara was right next door so I decided to pop in for a look and ended up leaving with a simple black dress and emerald cardigan and sparkly peep-toe flats, bearing a frightening resemblance to Manoush. After Zara was a bigger, better H&M where I regret not buying a brown sweater with cats on it (sounds silly, maybe that decision was for the best). I don't regret not purchasing the Madonna tracksuit. That thing is u-g-l-y. Porr Madonna, having a momentary lapse in consciousness by allowing herself to promote such a chavvy rag. On to Galeries Lafayette, a 7 floor designer department store. Though no specific piece caught my eye, at least I got to touch Vivienne Westwood clothes. Now for Colette, apparently the trendiest store in Paris. I was expecting a store with that reputation to be much bigger, but clearly they value quality over quantity. Here I bought two books on street fashion. One was that Japanese magazine "Fruits" and the other is called "Identity". Ironically close to Colette was one of the secondhand designer stores! I still had Euros burning a hole in my pocket so I really had no choice but to adopt a darling Gucci wallet. It really just leaped into my hands through the glass cage in was being contained in. Here is a personal thankyou to Tom Ford for making me very happy. Or maybe I should be thanking Frida Giannini because she used to be a bag designer? I'll let them fight it out and whoever doesn't die can be the sole receiver of that compliment. So ends my day in true Paris form. I didn't buy too much, I didn't buy too little and I bought something that will last the test of time. Plus, with some leftover money, I treated my aunt, uncle and their French friend Martine all to gelato. It has been a tres bien trip. Abientot! (Okay, I'm not sure of the alt coldes for the correct accents to put on the letters.)

Note: the picture of the Gucci wallet is not actually mine. I'll post various pictures from the trip at a later date. Namely when school isn't revoltingly busy.

Monday, September 18, 2006

September 5th & 6th in Paris

September 5th, 2006: I went to the Versailles during the day and saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time at night. Versailles was beautiful and excessive but hardly worth losing your head over. The weather was so hot I was afraid of dehydration and/or sunstroke, but luckily all medical maladies were avoided for a day. Well, all except for a Kit Kat McFlurry at McDonalds.
-Seeing the Eiffel Tower was one of the most sincere feelings I've ever had. It was frighteningly beautiful when at exactly 10:00 p.m. lights started to sparkle, creating a magical glittery effect.The couples in love and flamenco buskers made me feel so humble and my surroundings seem so otherworldly. To have been in love at that moment may well have been an incarnation of the divine.****

September 6th, 2006: It is here that necessity is forcing me to conquer my fear of not matching my outfits perfectly. I usually admire the messy folk who leave the house looking like a grunge wet dream, but I am jut not one of those people. If the shoes don't match the shirt and the jewelery doesn't match the bag, I have the uncontrollable urge to tweak something. Well, today I was wearing a gray leopard print top and a pink silk headscarf, and realized exactly how sacriligeous it would be to pair a zebra-print bag with the leopard shirt. In a rush toget out the door, I stuffed all of my personal belongings into a purse I had bought the day earlier. It happened to be a black patent leather tote with the word "Paris" an eiffel tower as the "a" and a heart on there somewhere. Yes, a cheesy tourist piece but an irresistable one at that. Luckily I had no one to point out that the pink scarf did not match the red heart. When I realized that on the subway I started to panic, but realized that it was pointless and decided to take the epiphany route instead. One small step in fashion rule-breaking, one giant leap for me.
-I spent all morning in the Louvre, and well, there's not many fashionable things to report there, so I'll skip to the afternoon spent on the Champs Elysees. I ate macaroons at LaDuree, probably the most fancy and delicious teahoue in all of Paris. Only go there if you can afford to gain weight. Everything is so delicious, that you probably will. Right outside the Louis Vuitton store I saw the craziest outfit. Ever. Worn by a 60 year old was a floral dress, red leggings, white shoes a gold sequinned purse and a rainbow beaded nacklace and bracelet. This woman was not a mental patient either. She actually pulled it off. Inside LV was a different story. Everyone in there is either Asian or a well-coiffed blonde who wants there piece of the conspicuous consumption pie. I looked like crap and tried to keep a low profile, which didn't work out when a security guard in a suit caught me taking a bootleg picture of a sumptuous white coat. Luckily, one of the sales clerks was a really nice guy who let me take a picture of myself in some secret back room and called me pretty. Honestly, he might've given away a free purse if that wouldn't have compromised his job...After Louis, I visited Pucci and Dior but felt way to scruffy to show my face in any other chichi joint. I was just tired of the Dior Barbies turning up their nose at me. Leave me alone, bitches. Hedi Slimane would approve!

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

September 3rd &4th in Paris

September 3rd, 2006: My only complaints from the trip so far have to be the shop hours and the prices of everything. This city is freaking nocturnal. Nothing is open before noon and the normal supper dining time is approximately 9 p.m. It's 3:30 in the morning right now and our apartment is right on top of a bar so lots of French people are still whooping it up, on a Monday no less. Blame my bitterness on jet lag, please. When I went to bed after being awake for 30 hours straight I expected to sleep a little longer than 6 hours. Hopefully this incessant journaling will invoke some extra fatigue in me. On to the prices. Where are all my Euros disappearing to? I've only bought 3 postcards, 3 international stamps and phone card, 2 french Vogues, 2 pairs of eiffel tower earrings, a t-shirt, ballet flats, scarves and a change purse so far! Okay. That sounds like a lot in restrospect, but most of it isn't for me and it feels I'm wasting my money before the trip is even half over! More nasty financial news includes the utter uselessness of Traveller's Cheques. No one will accept them. Why oh why did I choose to invest half of my money in the social pariah of European tender? I'd better get my ass over to a bank and use my mangled french to changes those little bugger. The only thing holding me back is the fact that banks are never open. Clearly French bankers have better things to do than work. Actually, it appears that way for everyone in the Latin Quarter, where I am staying. Stores open and close whenever they please and the people actually shopping look far too laid back to ever have worked a day in their lives. The only "active" places are; the Jardin du Plantes where everyone jogs, and the subway in the mornings...

September 4th, 2006: Today's morning activity involves going to Paris' premiere flea-market Clignancourt. I expected it to be vintage 7th heaven but in reality it's a jumble of ethnic scarves, Rastafarian gewgaws and Dooney & Bourke knockoffs. I'm slightly disappointed but at least I came out with a fabulous open-backed red dress with white stars all over it. Note to self: never wear this dress with blue. I do not want to look like an ultra-patriotic Bush-supporter. The afternoon's activity involved Montmartre, the district of Amelie, bohemian artists and porn. Van Gogh, Chagalle and Picasso all worked here at one point, and modern-day artists continue the tradition in an entire square devoted to "artists for hire" who will draw your portrait for a price. It was here where I bought 2 gorgeous Eiffel towel prints and a black patent leather tote that says "Paris" on it, and the "a" is an Eiffel tower and there is a heart on there somewhere as well. It sounds tacky but is actually quite cute. To a tacky girl like me, I suppose. Something else utterly tacky is the fact my aunt said "this isn't a shopping trip, Isabel". What? Not a shopping trip? Of course it's a fucking shopping trip. Do you think I came to Paris to eat fatty foods and get laid thrice daily? No. Just because you took me to a porn district...Yes, Montmartre is the home of the Moulin Rouge and is chock full of dirty little video shops. No wonder Picasso liked it here.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Home again, Home again, Jiggity-Jig!

Wow, what a trip! It was a fabulous time but I did miss home a lot. Apparently home missed me as well because I came home to 44 e-mails, most of them notifications for blog comments(thank you!) and Word of the day e-mails (did you know that "pervicacious" means stubborn?). Alright, well I'll be posting my Paris diary entries here for the next couple of days. I'll try to write 2 days worth of diary entries for every post I write, so I'll get back to blogging about things non-Gallic in 4 posts. Also, a few more notifications: I'll try to upload pictures from the trip on to here but I apologize if they don't come immediately, (I'll have to catch up on schoolwork after missing the first few days of Grade 12 ) and whenever I mention the word "we" it stands for myself, my Aunt and my Uncle.

September 1st, 2006:

-Stupid Mistake of the Trip #1: Forgetfully leaving both pairs of shoes I had planned to bring at home. Necessity called for a pair of comfy shoes so I went to an Ottawa mall and ended up with a decent pair of black Aerosoles with a white bow on them from Winners. Nice shoes, but hardly worth the last-minute stress.
-Stupid Mistake of the Trip #2: Public fucking transport. If only being a fashionista could guarantee the use of your own private jet...Whenever I travel in public, (be it by bus, train, boat or airplane) I am hounded by Pervs, Mutants, Territory Invaders and Wailing Infants. Though the former are generally used for city busrides, even a "Premium Economy" flight is not free from the latter. Pardon the grumpiness. I'm riding an overnight flight and it's setting in while I try to calculate how much french caffeine it will take to endure 28 hours straight of conciousness.

September 2nd, 2006: Let's paint a picture of Paris in the morning. Cigarettes litter the ground, as do men wearing tight Eurojeans and women in ballet flats and scarves. Sunrise is beautiful and I feel like a junkie, but don't look like one at all. After glimpsing myself in the bathroom mirror, I actually look pink and healthy. While by natural standards, my hair should feel greasy and my makeup crusted, it passes for "effortless" in this state. Maybe I should travel more often...I can't believe I'm truly in Paris right now. I saw the Hilton hotel and couldn't help but chuckle at seeing the real Paris Hilton. Too bad I didn't get a photo.

-"After a cafe au lait and a croissant, I perked up and began to observe the style of French filles. Thank God, every single one of them is a fashion individual. I haven't seen the same article of clothing twice, and probably won't throughout the entire week. Footwear is another story though. I always thought ballet flats were cool, but I doubt there's a hip girl, young or old, in Paris who doesn't own a pair. It doesn't matter if they are plain metallic or glittery, they are the most obvious signifier of good taste I have seen so far. Actually, Paris seems to be filled with age-defying people. Just earlier, I saw a 40-year old woman wearing Converse and a polka-dot dress over skinny jeans. It's refreshing to see the middle-aged take on the hipster trend...."