The time has come for Fashion week here in Paris. Heels headed to heaven seem to be a must, even though the uneven and slanted sidewalks make a simple stroll a bit of a challenge. When some of my friends who don't comprehend the significance wonder, "why?" I just respond, "mind over matter" and then return my focus to our destination. It really isn't so bad, my posture improves, my neck seems elongated, and I may appear to have that certain concentration or that look of, I-can't-be-bothered, merci beaucoup.
I do love Fashion week. I love the excuse of being just little late to certain things, like French class. But it seemed completely justified when I did show up, and we were learning past-tense. My classmates were sharing what they studied before, and when my turn came around and I responded with; "J'ai étudiée la mode.." My slight tardiness seemed understood. Yes, I am wearing a huge shell necklace with a crazy tassel. Yes, I am wearing men's pants, but I also got on my high-heeled clogs and my sequined vest. It's Fashion week, and those things just make sense.
Bisous,
Reba
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