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paris, pink, paris fashion week

Thursday, September 29, 2016





what i’m wearing: primark faux fur coat, primark pink- black piped satin suit, primark black neck scarf & primark pink & rose gold mules 


Updates from Paris? I have many, many of which are tiny hassles that sprinkled themselves like confetti all over my meticulously planned schedule. But that’s how life goes or should I say, that’s how PFW goes. This season started confidently with a guilt-free croissant and overpriced coffee; both enjoyed under a hairstyle I felt oddly proud of. 800 photos later, an ugly realisation surfaces. We shot everything in a strange format unreadable on my mac. It took hours to churn them into jpegs, which meant unprofessionally missing a deadline as well as sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at my screen, screaming ‘WHY’. The mistake also cost me a foolish 30 euros in various, suspicious image converter programmes I hastily bought online out of desperation. Soon after, my beloved suitcase broke, the wheel snapped off mid crossing of Rue du Louvre. This resulted in  awkwardly dragging my poor lulu guiness like a cripple all over the dusty pathways of the Tuileries. Should you not know, I bring an enormous suitcase with me on shoots, which acts as a closet more than anything. The loud noise my 3 wheeled case made  inspired fellow pedestrians to offer  advice on how to carry my suitcase correctly, signalling with their hands as I passed them. Then came the arduous task of collecting last minute samples for shoots, finding ourselves on a tiny street in the Marais arguing with a Chinese man about the itinerary of his DHL courier. I’d like to add that I still am yet to successfully acquire this package and I fear I might need an entire bottle of wine to face the 3rd attempt. To ease frustration, I sat myself down and inhaled two plates of vegan French food. There were more croissants. a coffee that cost 16 euros, yes almost a blue 20 note in exchange for an almost unsavory cafe creme. A woman at a pharmacy bored us about her escapades on the east coast of the USA, I smiled and held in 3 sneezes, hoping she would stop talking so I could unbox the medicine and shove it down. Because I’m sick. If there is a fashion week going on in the world, I get the flu. Almost as if my body has an allergic reaction to the event entirely. Despite a sore throat and a nose like a faucet, I ran to Cafe Flore to see Haleigh because that’s what best friends do. We split a salad, shared secrets and condemned the waiter for bringing multiple tiny plates of chips out for us to eat.. I adore her and I don’t say that about many people anymore. I’ve observed many models on the streets; tiny pale ghosts wrapped in a cloud of cigarette smoke, bony limps sticking out of black pants. They always wear black pants. And for the first time in my life, I saw these girls and felt thankful I didn’t look like them. In fact, every season, as soon as PFW comes around, an event that involves people from every fashion profession imaginable, I thank the skies that I am a blogger. I might be sick, I might be stressed, I might only have a broken suitcase instead of a driver , but I absolutely love what I do. To be able to return  to the city I love most and run through the streets dreaming up photos to share online is a lovely, incredible job.


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