La Coquette

Have been in US thirteen days. Have thoughts.

I went for a run right after arriving in Chicago on a warm afternoon.  These are some things I saw:

-A car with a sticker reading "Fins up."  Reminded me that my elementary school mascot was the shark.  "Fins Up" was our slogan.  French schools don't have mascots.  Paved playgrounds, graph paper notebooks, no mascots.  I'm starting a list of things that are overly serious yet adorable about French schools.
-At Wellington and Damen, I came upon a baseball field that made me feel like I was in a Tom Perrotta novel.  It was dusk.  The stadium lights were so bright.  There were all these different games going on in corners of the field.  Little pockets of people playing.  Bodies in t-shirts.  I wondered how many drawers full of t-shirts these people had – two, three?  How many t-shirts total does an average Parisian have?  Two, three?
-I passed a group of people my age playing co-ed softball.  One guy goes, "That's Ryan's girlfriend," gesturing to a far off girl.  The girl sitting next to him goes, "Ha ha, whatever."  They were simultaneously making fun of Ryan and the girl.  I think.  Okay, there is a certain kind of American guy that still intimidates me.
-There is a water tower near where I'm staying with the word "Menards" written on it.  Immediately I hear in my head, "Save big money at Menaaards."  The word and the song are inextricably linked.  It's a jingle I estimate I haven't heard since 2003.  Seriously that's in my head and not my phone number?

The next morning, I am in the office.  If this were France, there would be concern about my fatigue.  In America, I say I arrived yesterday and they kind of nod.  Don't think I will collapse under my desk for want of a siesta.  Ah, what rough and ready pioneers these people be.

I had pizza that very night, the second night I was in town, with Kathleen and Whitney, two girls who have known me since middle school.  They think it's annoying when I talk about America as if it were foreign land.  Fair enough.  But.

Oh, another thing.  One of the first things I saw when I stepped out of my taxi in front of my friend Jen's apartment on Wellington (you know, near the Dunkin Donuts on Ashland, and that big Jewel), was a man running in a t-shirt that said "FYI, I'm Irish."  Think he probably meant it in more of a "my great grandparents went through a lot of shite and me I like to drink beer" kind of way.  Stereotype.  Sorry.  Anyway I thought it was perfect.  Wanted to hug him.  Ellis Island. 

Oh, and unrelated: last night I went to bed 27 and today I woke up 28.  Boo hoo.  Kafka. 

Just a hard-nosed cynic who is ready to cut out of town

Deleting some text messages from my phone tonight, I had these two in a row: “Yo, meet me in the square, next 2 the statue” and “je suis sur le pont” (I’m on the bridge).

Maybe it’s because I’m leaving Thursday to spend a month in Chicago, where it will be “corner of Grand and Michigan” or “outside Chipotle,” or maybe it’s just because these two meetings in question were visually out of a Truffaut film -- the one in the square, someone had mysteriously put a bunch of white flowers in the crook of the statue’s arm (to hold them for a moment while they ran some errands?), and in the second one there was a floppy haired boy waiting for me, watching the view over the canal outside of Chez Prune -- but they kind of made my insides turn to Velveeta.

Fine, I'm going to miss Paris. It'll be our little secret.

Like a day in the park

Today was a beautiful day in Paris.  A little windier than expected.  But boy, it wasn’t so long ago that it was raining every day.  Buckets.  There was even a point where it was warmer in Chicago than here.  It hardly seemed fair. 

But then, I went for a run in the park Buttes Chaumont a few hours ago, where the tulips were looking downright perky and the color compositions made me feel all proud that I live in France.  (At citrus palettes, we scoff.  Too easy, says France!  We prefer the brilliance of burgundy, offset by pastels.  La Classe.)  I've written about parks here before, and I suspect I will continue to write about them.  When did I become so into parks?   I just love them.

I even got warm enough to strip down to my grey American college tee.

I know what you're thinking. Oh, but that hardly seems fair!  You're in Paris. On a nice day.  Running in the park. Wearing a tee-shirt.   

Well observed, kid.  But it's been far too long since I've bragged on this site about living in Paris.  Like last Saturday morning, I work up early and went to the Belleville market where I bought herb goat cheese, white asparagus ("It's in season," said the tall, dark, handsome vegetable man), fresh salmon, bread with noisette and pistachio inside, and macarons which I froze and have been eating for dessert all week. 

Ok, I'll cut it out now. 

I’ll be writing a newsletter for Département Féminin every month, the store in Toulouse whose new shopping site (recently featured in Jalouse, Elle, and Madame Figaro) is elegantly designed by the good people at Spill.  The wonderfully spectacled Garance (I’ve got more to say about her glasses, much more) did the French translations for the newsletter.  Mise en page by Spill.  This is the result.

If you’d like to sign up to receive the newsletter monthly, here’s what you do: Enter the site.  Choose your language, then go to “visit,” then “contact.”  Maintenant c’est a vous. 

Who's that girl?

In March, Chicago magazine ran an item I wrote on model and Midwestern girl Karlie Kloss.

When I interviewed her last October, she had just walked in her first batch of shows.  I had a hunch she would do very well, but I never could have imagined she would be the everywhere  (everywhere!) over the following six months.  I do not feel like listing all of the places she has been since then -- look here or here if you'd like to see -- but I do feel like showing you my snap of Karlie at La Perle, October 7, 2007.  I may not be Patrick Demarchelier but I kind of like it.

No one saw it coming

My parents were in France a couple of weeks ago. In this video we are having dinner at my 20-year-old cousin Louise’s apartment in Le Mans.  My uncle (yellow sweater) is telling a story about some traveling boy scouts who recently camped on their farm property.  I began filming because I thought it would be a cute story, and it could have been.  But you’ll see, it sort of gets derailed.  What happens is that my mom says something that makes me laugh.  Maybe it was fashion week exhaustion.  Maybe it was the fact that I had a stressful experience at the train station hours earlier.  Maybe it reminded me of all the times I've been the out-of-the-loop foreigner.  Maybe it's the story itself (French boy scouts invading your yard!).  Maybe it's the way my mom and aunt catch my laughter and begin laughing, in shock, at the tears spilling from my eyes.

I wish you could have seen my face.  Actually I don't.  It probably looked all crumpled and pink. 

Scouts
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2 more things:

-I love how my Dad (grey sweater) is unphased by my meltdown.  He takes the opportunity (No one is talking!  Finally!) to begin reminiscing.  “We were about 14…”

-If you listen closely, you will hear that my Mom calls my Dad dan-YELL not DAN-yull, because that is how the name is pronounced in French, and that is how she has always said it. To an American ear, it sounds like she is saying “Danielle.” Meanwhile, my Dad’s answering machine at work says, “Hello, you’ve reached DAN-yull Fourmont."  He gets away with his American drag until one of his family members calls, asking if "Danielle" is there. 

Somebody has written a book

Catherine and I first met in 2005. A lot of stuff happened to her that year. Enough stuff to say, fill a book. Tonight, she’ll be signing copies at W.H. Smith in Paris.

Département Féminin -- Toulouse, France

Susan recently captured this picture of a little fashion posse in Paris, which is typical of the looks you see during fashion week, and it’s what I like to call X-treme chic.  There is something very French about this look, but there’s another quieter side to French fashion, too, a side that doesn’t call as much attention to itself and is less hard.  More romantic.  And as much as I like to pretend that my heart is harder than a canary yellow diamond, I have a little secret, which I will tell you right now: I love romantic clothes. 

I went down to Toulouse just before fashion week to check out a store called Département Féminin.

They sell Alaia, Balenciaga, Chloe, Lanvin -- you know, designers that none of us like very much at all. 

It’s all in the way you wear something of course, and it’s too bad the owner is so shy, because she is just a walking billboard for the reason why French women get it right.  It pains me to write such a cliché, and let's be honest, not all French women do, but the ones that get it right really get it right.

When I met the owner, Carole, she was wearing NDC derby shoes (they're like saddle shoes, but monochromatic), the most feminine and small Balenciaga bag (I’m kind of starting to get sick of big bags, personally), a navy blue jacket, and a blue and white striped oxford shirt.  What stands out to me about the store and her personal style is that, while there’s a lot of ribbon-y, satin-y Lanvin in the store (mmmm, Lanvin), she really incorporates menswear elements.  They are parlayed not in a hard and modern Calvin Klein way, but as a coquettish girl-in-chiffon-dress-with-boyfriend’s-jacket sort of way.  Think Charlotte Gainsbourg.  When you walk into a store in New York that has chandeliers and lots of lace (the touchstones of the America-doing-French look), those stores so often seems ersatz to me because they forget about the menswear side, such an important part of the French look.  Le Smoking, anyone?  Coco Chanel?

This is the Département Féminin inspiration wall, downstairs in the stockroom of the store.  I feel like these pictures alone are some of the most valuable images I’ve ever put on this blog.  It’s essentially a collection of the greatest hits of Jalouse, Paris Vogue, and French Elle in recent years.   I live to serve, people.

The store recently created an online shopping site which is still bold new territory in the luxury market, especially in France (neither Colette nor L’Eclaireur sell clothes online, nor do the big department stores here.  It’s very different from the US in that way, where you can shop Barneys, Neimans, Nordstom, etc, online). 

I think the site really transmits the feeling of the store and takes you into the owner's world, which is again, pretty rare in the online shopping world.  It’s done by a design firm called Spill, who created the much acclaimed site for Colette, among other brilliant sites. 

I’m over the moon that they have asked me to do some work for the Departement Feminin site, translating the item descriptions into English, and potentially writing a newsletter for them.  Because of this, I feel like I should stop talking before I go overboard, like before I say that I want to go into that black and white boudoir on the site and French kiss all of the silky, shiny Lanvin ballerina slippers.  That would be unprofessional of me. 

Lanvin is for Lovers

Read all about it at Chicago magazine. Also... Nina Ricci! My other boyfriend!

Lanvin, Fall 2008

Lanvin, Fall 200
Video sent by Efourmont

Vuitton, Fall 2008

Vuitton, Fall 2008
Video sent by Efourmont

Nina Ricci, Fall 2008

Nina Ricci, Quick Look
Video sent by Efourmont

It's a show!

Oh, Chanel.  Coco Rocha (above, center pole) wants you to read all about it at Chicago magazine. 

More video after the jump!

Chanel, Quick Look

Chanel, Quick Look
Video sent by Efourmont

Ease on down the road

Head on over to Chicago mag if you'd like to see: how Karlie Kloss walks, how Kanye West looks in kelly green, how cute Jessica Stam is when she smiles, and why we suspect Stella McCartney just might be a Democrat.

Stella McCartney - Quick Preview

Stella McCartney - Quick Preview
Video sent by Efourmont

Givenchy Fall 2008

Givenchy Fall 2008
Video sent by Efourmont

Fashin' Out

I’ll be whipping out posts on my Paris Ready to Wear experiences for Chicago magazine this week, as fast as my sooo French home internet connection will allow. (Yesterday, it seemed to be on strike, so from 4pm until the time I left for Yohji at 8pm, I was working in the red glow of Café Chéri(e) across the street. All the PR people that called me surely thought I was in a nightclub.)

Chicago Fashion, Spring

Spring 2008 is out, and it is the best issue yet!  (Do I always say that?)  But truly, I think Stacey Jones and our art director Jennifer Moore outdid themselves.  Below are scans of my own stories (after the jump), including: a glimpse into the home (and wardrobe) of Katrina Markoff, founder of Vosges Haut Chocolat, interviews with retailers Ikram Goldman, Heiji Choy Black, and Tory Burch, a "Fashion Personality" quiz (with a truly cool illustration by Silja Gotz), and a few shorter trend pieces. 

Pencil case Chic

I don’t even know how or when this started, but my sister Aimee and I once had a joke about French kids loving pencil cases.  It has to do with a certain tidiness we find in the French school child, perhaps partly imagined, as we have never been in French school ourselves.

But I’ll never forget when I received in Florida a handmade booklet created by my cousin Jeanne and her fifth grade class, telling us all about their lives in their village of Viré.  How they wrote so carefully on their wee little sheets of graph paper!  The penmanship!  I asked my cousin recently and she said they took all of their class notes on graph paper, so that certainly helped dissuade from the big, loopy style that females seem genetically disposed to in America.

It had been years since we’d mentioned the pencil case thing, and I had forgotten all about it, until I wore a 1940’s navy top with polka dots under a Mont Saint-Michel eyelet sweater one night when I was home from Christmas, like a petite écolier, and my sister Aimee took one look at me and said, “You look very French.  Like you should be carrying a pencil case.”

You're going to want to see this

My photo (outside of A Chorus Line) on the Gucci site. 

What?  It’s not cool to love A Chorus Line?  Jazz hands!  (Turn down the volume on your computer, go to “fashion bloggers’ top spots,” then “view photos.”)