In between routine doctors' appointments Monday, my design student daughter and I went shopping. Yes, there were shoes involved. Gleaming black patent leather heels with little double straps. And handbags: pale blue-grey suede from Italy, so soft and supple, you want to use them for a pillow and rest your weary bones. Because after hours in elegant Paris boutiques and department stores with the master shopper (uh, that would be Jordana), one might need to lie down. The dizzying array of gorgeous clothes - many reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn's Two for the Road look in 1967 or Twiggy's clothes in the late '60s and early '70s - began to blur, as my blood sugar plummeted (we skipped lunch, in favour of shopping).
I was surprised to see women who looked older than I trying on clothes clearly designed for younger women. Then I realised the women weren't necessarily older - their faces just looked it, because they'd spent much of the summer lounging seaside sans sunscreen!
Disappointingly, the largest size I saw on the clothing racks was typically equivalent to a US size 4. Just in case you're not so slender (that would be me), the thoughtful people at Printemps rather sadistically installed a Laduree macaroon cart right in the middle of the chicest boutiques! Do they really want people walking around with sticky fingers, then pawing through racks of expensive clothes? Of course, not a single thin Parisienne woman would be caught dead anywhere near the macaroons, so I, too, resisted.
Today we are off on more intellectual pursuits, namely le Musée de l'Institut du Monde Arabe. Check back later for another post.