You’re probably thinking, “She talking about the fact that in the past she posted everyday and now she posts about three times a week.”
No, that’s not today’s subject.
Today’s subject is fashion and it’s all about black, black, black — the pure beauty of black.
It all began on Tuesday when I met a remarkable woman for an interview (for my book again) at the too trendy for words restaurant, L’Avenue, on Avenue Montaigne in Paris. I arrived early and was greeted at the door by three gorgeous black-clad women who stand guard over the entry into the emporium. There is a heavy velvet curtain that shutters the view into the interior, which gives diners privacy while at the same time allowing the young women to tell unsavory clients, without reservations, that there is no available seating beyond the threshold. (I’m assuming, since I witnessed the above, that unsavory clients with reservations are allowed to enter.)
Once past the front door, escorted by a gaggle of beauties (clearly beauty, cleavage and charm must rank high on their resumés) to one’s table, a swift glance around the space proved that, with only a very few exceptions, everyone within was equally attractive.
And, almost everyone was wearing some iteration of black apparel. Sometimes there was a white shirt beneath a black coat, skirt or pants, tights and bootines, some of which were of vertiginous heights, but mostly the various looks were black-on-black-on-black.
And, I have to tell you, I absolutely loved the overall chic-ness of the black scene. Serious, as in large necklaces, cuff bracelets and “important” earrings — statement pieces that in some cases may have been the real deal — upped the ante on the style quotient. No matter the length of the women’s hair, there wasn’t a “fixed” coiffure in the place. In some cases the makeup was bold, as in red,red lips, while a few women chose a low-key route with barely there cosmetic application. All the women I saw had immaculate manicures featuring the deepest, darkest wine hues to pure red lacquers. Very pretty.
Granted, this has been fashion week with “everyone” coming to Paris to attend the haute couture collections, which partially explains the crowd. L’Avenue is after all at the very center of the best high end shopping in the city and only a few steps from the Hotel Plaza Athénée.
All I could think, when I sat there in my purple coat, albeit in my black trousers, black cashmere sweater and black suede ballerinas, was: “Why didn’t I wear a black coat?” My favorite ankle-length redingote is in Chicago. Why did I leave it in Chicago(?) I was wondering. My three-quarter black coat is at the cleaners, bad timing on my part.
So, what did I do? I rushed out yesterday and bought a new black coat at Max Mara. I know, I know. . .you don’t have to tell me, but I feel covered and that is soooo important don’t you think? (The coat was on sale after all.)
Then, My-Reason-For-Living-In-France said: “Let’s go to Bompard and find a new scarf for you.” Et voilà, that’s my story.