- For the passionate only -

Once in a full moon you meet the kind of people you aren't supposed to meet in real life, they only exist in movies. I am talking about the kind of people who seem to good to be true, you have always imagined about meeting someone like it, but it never occurred that maybe one day you will...

About 200 meters from my front door, is a tiny vintage store with a peculiar name. A name that I shall not mention, for this vintage store is my secret Parisian address. I shall only share it with those who can appreciate the true greatness this treasure beholds.

It surely is no secret that Paris houses the most jaw dropping vintage stores in the universe. But ever since SJP started parading her vintage wardrobe on 5th avenue in SATC, lovers and wanna be's have turned into must haves and must haves have turned into commercial jokes. People who don't know what they are buying, are buying it. Today, it has become challenging to distinguish the passionate vintage lover from those who just buy it because it's a cool thing to do.

So therefore, my secret vintage address that I cherish with my whole heart shall remain mine forever.

Each time I walk through the mustard yellow painted door, I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of Paris, just the beat of my own heart. I am digging for gold and there is nobody who can stop me now!

The first time it was Chanel, the second Alaïa, the third Dior...All impeccable vintage, guarded by a knowledgeable woman, I like to call Misses N.

She is the real deal. She will tell you your size the second you enter her goldmine, will scan your likes and dislikes and give you a tour around her to the nook filled store, grabbing every item that will suit your taste, figure and size. She will then inform you about the garment with exact detail about when it was shown on the runway, by who it was designed and how much it really is worth.

For my first introduction, she sends me off to the dressing room with a Hermès silk blouse, DVF jersey wrap dress, wool Chanel top and Comme des Garçons wool suit. Although I wanted to buy every single item, I kept my cool and was yet to discover the biggest treasure that houses in her pillbox store.

It was hidden in an old glass closet underneath Chanel and Hermès jewels. It wasn't with the other clothes, not hanging on the rack with the other items neatly organized by color. It was there, where nobody shall find it or pay attention. I recognized it from gazing at it for too many times in fashion history books. The colors were still flawless and it was just like I had imagined it would be.

I look at her in disbelief - Can I see it? Can I try it on?...
She laughs - Sure

I fall on my knees. She opens the closet, I take it out, fold it open and cannot believe my eyes! I touch it, feel it, try it on, and can't believe what I am seeing, it fits (off course).

All of a sudden I feel like the fashion police is just behind my back to rip off this piece of perfection from my body - for this should not be hidden in a vintage store, but belong to a museum or at least Rachel Zoe's vintage collection. I take it off, feel it, touch it, fold it and put it back where I found it.

Ever since that moment... I have dreamed about it, hungered for it and wondered about it...I now find my self repeating the same question every time I enter the mustard yellow painted door.

Is IT still here? (At this moment my heart leaps and I feel nauseas)

But for now her answer has always been YES, YES IT is still here. Waiting for you to buy, it is still hidden underneath the jewels - don't worry nobody will find it.

But what if someone will? I dread the day that she will say, I sold it - I have sold the Wool jersey YSL Mondrian top from the 1965 autumn Haute Couture collection.

Nightmare come true!

But than I remember, I shall not fear...
Once in a full moon you meet the kind of people you aren't supposed to meet in real life, they only exist in movies. And her name is Misses N. , she only sells to the passionate and hides treasures for the perfect owner to find...

California girl

The sun may rise in the East, at least it settles in the final location...California.

I was 12, the first time I got introduced to the Bling Bling west coast of the United States of America. A place where the sunshine sparkles in the blue ocean all year 'round. It was magical and I found myself in a whole new state of mind.

From then on I was lucky enough to go back EVERY summer!

The things I remember best...

Waking up early in the morning to the smell of the rising sun. Driving in a mini-van filled with surfboards and friends to go up to the beach, where the girls would watch the boys suck at surfing. Afternoons filled with sunbathing, shopping and checking out the cute guys at Abercrombie. And evenings would consist of going out to the movies or eating smores by a campfire on the beach. I felt like a kid in a candy store, I wore flip flops to restaurants and a pink hat that matched my bubblegum lipstick.

My best memory...

Cruising down the 101 in a blue pick-up truck with my bare feet out the window while enjoying the sound of the Red Hot Chillipeppers 'Californication'. Living in the moment is what I did every day.

Back home I was bombarded Miss USA during my high school & college years since I picked up on a heavy American accent and an over the top dressing style that didn't refer to my European roots.

Now I sometimes wake up in the morning and recognize that smell of California. An intense scent you can only witness on a sunny morning when nature is getting ready for that big ball of radiation. That smell takes me right back to the golden coast. I wish I could capture it in a bottle, only used in desperate moments, when I need a shot of energy and instant gratification.

Ready...Set...Action

- From Paris with love -

Woody Allen recently explained why his new blockbuster movie 'Midnight in Paris' was shot in the French capital. "Everybody in the US is brought up to love Paris; people love the city even before they ever set foot in it".  

Paris, the city of lights and endless romance has been the set for numerous movies. So many that you could almost say that the city has no secrets anymore. Every street corner, every avenue, every building, every bridge is unique and beautiful and has surely been the center of attention in a movie. It is therefore not unusual to once in a while bump into cameras on the streets. The city changes into a Hollywood movie set. Like two months ago when on a sunny Sunday morning my Montmartre metro station was covered with white fake snow carpets. Or last year when a well kept yellow old timer blocked the afternoon traffic in st germain des pres. And there are the occasional screaming paparazzi waiting outside of the glittery hotel Costes for a celebrity to finish their lunch or cocktails. I can only confirm that Paris is the absolute perfect backdrop for any given movie, the city changes character when entering another arrondissement or going from the left onto the right bank.

I love the way a movie can take you to exotic and exciting places that you have never been before and give you an instant motivation to go there. Who doesn't want to go to NYC after their first introduction to Carrie Bradshaw, while feeling the excitement and restlessness of the big apple bubbling of the screen? Or Beverly Hills on a Pretty woman shopping spree with mister perfect his credit card?  

 

And then there is the wonder of old Hollywood movies, from a decade when the movie set women were dressed in elegant and glamorous designs by the likes of Edith Head and Ceil Chapman.

When I have a hot date with my city, I know I am in for a treat when going to one of the small old-school movie theaters in the quartier Latin, where the seats are still covered in authentic red velvet and silk fabric is drapped above the movie screens. All the starlets from the Hollywood golden years come back to life on a daily basis and take you to another decade when women still dressed like women in sophisticated ensembles with matching hats and gloves. And we must surely not forget about the exquisite sequenced evening gowns in which they seduced their male antagonists.

Before coming to Paris, the only black and white movie I had ever seen was breakfast at Tiffany's. But living in a city as Paris, where nostalgia is embraced with open arms, I have evolved to loving everything old. From flea markets to vintage clothes, and from crooners music to black & white movies.

Some people say that nostalgia is for those whom are not happy in their current life, in part because they think their life would have been better when living in another era. I don't really see it that way. What is so wrong with enjoying and dreaming away with an old Hollywood classic, when real glamour was still alive?

Juggling with words

- The French woman in me -

My boyfriend and I live in a tiny Parisian apartment filled with books, high up into the little nooks of our ceilings. They aren't mine; they belong to him who has read them all. My humble collection still houses at my parents place, since all of our walls are already filled. Most of his novels are written by authors I have never heard off and have trouble with the pronunciation of their last names. I love the smell that the books bring to our home, it reminds me of going to the local library when I was young. Recently we have taken on the challenge of putting the entire collection in alphabetical order. The authentic wooden floors of our midget apartment were filled with books during a 2 day period while we struggled with the pages and pages filled with words and letters.

The French have a very rich literary heritage, and they carry around a book all day the same way they carry around their wallet. They read everywhere and anywhere, on the metro, in the street, on the toilet. Everybody has a wide knowledge off the written word and take it as a necessity to have read all the French literary classics. Unfortunately I stand in great contrast to that vision, I read fashion magazines from cover to cover and weep with Danielle Steel novels and books by the name of Bergdorf Blondes and Last night at Chateau Marmont. The French are great with words, and I guess their reading culture has got something to do with it.

My boyfriend too, he is great with words, French words that are. To me he is a great master of the French language and I often have a hard time following his opinions and thoughts. I have to admit that I sometimes nod even though I didn't understand a single word of what he was saying. My knowledge of the French language has evolved and I can carry on a conversation, but sometimes it just goes to fast for me and the cultural difference gets to prominent. Jokes for that matter are a great example. Cracking jokes in a language other than your mother tongue seems so unnatural and when people start laughing at the table and you are the only silent person there, your senses tell you that you have just missed out on a joke. Getting angry is worse, in the mist of your boiling point; it is extremely hard to come up with the right words to say at the moment you should say them. They always seem to dawn on me to late, when my angriness has been blown off by steam trough my ears.

 I always feel like a different person in a different language. And although 99% of what you say isn’t coming out of your mouth, I cannot help but feel inadequate when I don't seem to come up with the right words to say. Reading should help, but I have a hard time keeping concentrated on French books. The spoken and written language are so different from one another that I feel lost when I enter chapter 2 of any French written novel. I don't seem to have that struggle when entering the entertainment of an English written book. The language comes more natural to me and I seem to wander through English novels with the same ease as wandering through a department store while shopping for shoes.

But, throughout the years and while living abroad, I have come to embrace the woman I am in French, English and Flemish, hoping that my true self shines through regardless of the words that come out of my mouth.

Men and the city

- Flirting for dummies -

It's not a myth nor is it an absolute fact that is applicable to all the French. But I come to really think that French women do honestly life by two lipsticks and a lover. And French men have a mistress on the side for which they don't apologize.

Take Sarkozy for example, in the middle of his elections everybody was talking about him leaving his wife for a younger substitute, a bimbo. He didn't apologize, nor was there ever an explanation of his new/old marital status. BUT as for the Monica Lewinsky/Bill Clinton drama, apologies and explanations for their sexual behavior were the only thing that came out of Clinton's mouth. The president of the united states of America, making an official announcement to the world that something  happened down under, and it didn't involve his wife. Talking about too much information.

 Not a very French thing to do if you ask me, because the French obviously don't kiss and tell. They are secretive and take it as a very serious patriarchal heritage not to talk about these kinds of subjects. Marriage is sacred and so is the mistress. I laugh my heart out when Alec Baldwin says to Meryl Streep in 'it's complicated' that he thinks it's a very 'French thing' to do - having an affair with his ex-wife.

And is it a French thing to do? Having another lover, an affair, a wild ride outside of the castles walls?

Books and books have been written about the French flirting attitude. In France, the woman are in on it too, seduction is part of their everyday life. They enjoy the occasional scene out of their own bedroom and know their place when it comes to 'being the other woman'. Meaning, having no problems with the fact that their lover is happily married to his wife and will not be leaving her under any circumstances.

Historically, the French have always been ahead of any other nationality in terms of underwear. And even today, the French women spend thousands and thousands euros on their lingerie. It's fundamental for them, it's the first thing they put on and so it determines their whole mood... I now understand why, it's all about seduction. Perfume is also part of it. As a hint of perfume should be applied wherever one wants to be kissed according to Coco Chanel. 

I guess starting 'an affair' in the capital that screams romance isn't so hard. It is therefore that it has dawn to me that French men find it very easy and inviting to come up to a strange woman, whom they have never met, in the middle of the street and ask her out for coffee. Sometimes they invite you to have a cigarette with them, even though there is no indication off your smoking habits or non-existing smoking habits for that matter. They ask you where you are from and if you need any directions. But most of all they stroll out numbers of catchy phrases like, 'bonjour miss France' just to attract your attention. It seems to come so natural to them, the whole flirting in the streets thing.

And although I have come to notice and embrace some of the specific treats to the French and Parisian species, I do feel that I still have a long way to go to get it all. Men chatting me up in the street doesn't really do it for me. I guess it must be a southern thing, being a girl from the north I must have a natural immunity against it. Because really, 'wanna have a smoke with me outside', what's that for a one-liner?

Never out of style

- The Madame Grès exhibition -

In today’s world, we are able to see and know everything about what goes on in the fashion business. The behind the scenes of fashion shows, fashion shoots and the making of a collection have no more secrets to the wide public. We can even buy off the runway pieces in a matter of minutes. With Burberry’s live-streaming catwalk, a new hot trench is only a click away.  

And although today’s fashion is there for everyone to reach, fashion history stills houses its little secret treasures… and Madame Grès is one of them.  

Madame Grès was born Germaine Emilie Krebs in 1903. Formally trained as a sculptress, but unable to excel in her profession (as it was an unsuitable job  for a lady), she devoted herself to a career as a couturier. She opened her own fashion house in 1942 which she ran until 1988.

Inspired by classical Greek gowns, she sculpted fabrics around the feminine body. She was faremost known for creating simple but technical complex evening dresses, producing the most exquisite gowns for an array of elegant and fashionable ladies like the Duchess of Windsor, Jacqueline Kennedy , Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich.  

“I wanted to be a sculptor. For me, it’s the same thing to work the fabric or the stone”

Her work, was admired by her designer colleagues , such as Givenchy, to whom she was a genius. YSL and Pierre Bergé’s foundation still houses the biggest Madame Grès collection in the world.

The simplexity in which yarns and yarns of silk jersey are draped an pleated is breathtaking. It feels like walking into Rachel Zoe's showroom just before the Oscars. Every Grès dress, every fabric panel is red carpet proofed. None of the designs look plain nor ordinary. Any given actress would be guaranteed to win a place on the best dressed list when wearing a Grès creation .

I cannot help but wonder which movie starlet will be wearing a vintage Madame Grès to the next big Hollywood event.  



From the 25th of March until the 24th of July
Musee Bourdelle
16, rue Antoine Bourdelle, 75015 Paris



The horror of taking a taxi in Paris

- Spotted: Big hummer with famous fashion designer in passengers seat -

Transportation in the big city is definitely important, having a car in Paris is considered a luxury as well as a pain in the ***. I guess an explanation is in order here:  when you take your car out, you will bump into a traffic jam and just when you arrive at your destination you will realize that even after an 1 hour search, you will not be finding a parking stop. The only spots that are available are the one’s that say 'livraison' - I think they should better call it the  'don't park your car here, you will be town away within 15 minutes' - zone. So as much for a car in Paris - NO thank you - been there done that. Most Parisians don't own a car ( I don't blame them) and if they do, it is very possible it is as big as a shoebox. I guess there always is the scooter, but since I am a skirt and big hair kinda gal, a pink vespa is not my cup of tea.

My point is that public transportation in Paris is kind of a big deal. You basically rely on the metro and the bus, taxi's don't count because when you are looking for one, you will most definitely not find one and if you do, the taxi-driver will ask where you are going and if that isn't the area where he planned on going, well, you are basically screwed.

SO, just when I have clocked out my Wednesday night visit to the bar until 11.30 PM, because that's when I am sure that I will still be able to take the metro home. I realized that the metro had decided to call it a night at 11.25 PM and bail on me. Platform pumps don't really help in these kind of situations.

Walking down rue de rivoli, keeping an eye on every taxi that passes by, even doing the 'I show my leg, please stop' trick à la Sarah Jessica Parker, I realized that home was still very far away. The only thing left for me to do was to find the nearest taxi-stop and wait in line just like my co-Parisians and the occasional tourist.

The cue is endless and the stakes are high as I stand there with blisters on my feet and an urgent need to crawl into bed, wishing I was living in New York where I could most surely find a  free taxi on the corner of any given street at any given hour.

And just when I thought the wait was going to feel like forever, I see a big hummer passing by...with Karl Lagerfeld in the passengers seat...his surprise passing by just made the wait a little bit more bearable. Thanks Uncle Karl, you just have made my evening!

The Parisian party scene

-Hot or not-

Parisian nightlife is filled with hotspots - cafés, concept bars, restaurants and clubs. They all promise a fabulous night out, good food, amazing drinks, smoking hot music and the occasional visit from a national or international superstar.

When you are planning a night out of dancing, be prepared, criticism isn't censured and Perez Hilton is considered nice and well-mannered when comparing to some of the Parisian doormen you may bump into. This is where Parisian arrogance is exploited to the top.

Skirt lengths are measured by eye, stiletto inches are taking into account, handbags are screened to be on the Vogue most wanted list BUT most importantly your entrance is judged by the number of skin revealing spots your outfit counts. Don't leave anything to the imagination, and don't do the 'I know the owner'-bluff, because this time you will get an invitation to call him on the spot.

So ladies, after this humiliating scene of striptease, you are either in or out. You are not just entering a club, you are getting a free judgment of the Parisian bouncer fashion association even when you haven't asked for it. An instant of self-affirmation, gratification and satisfaction appears on the faces of those who get in. But for some the night just ends there, at the sidewalk of the club, with a free and angry look from the self announced fashion police.

So much for a night out you might think. But once you get in, you are sure to get a live impression of the latest trends in fashion. Les 'faux pas' are left at the door.

Natural woman?

The image of 'la femme Parisienne'

A natural women, with the perfect slender body, long straight light brown hair, a nonchalance and arrogance with which she carries around her certain 'je ne sais quoi'. The image of the French lady seems to me universal, it's the lady that doesn't get fat even though her diet is filled with croissants, baguettes, macarons, wine and cheese. She's the woman that isn't really into exercise, walking around Paris and sex are the only basic things she needs to keep that perfect body intact.

It therefore comes to me as a shock that these perfect creatures would even CONSIDER plastic surgery - it doesn't seem to fit the picture.  But I see more and more silicone filled lips, open spread eyes, up to your face breasts and 50+ women with a wrinkle-less forehead passing me by in the streets of Paris.

When did the 'cat-lady's ' face become the new designer drug I wonder? The 'cat-lady', a New York socialite whom has been officially considered to have had the most plastic surgery done. And since her new appearance makes Halle Berry (aka Catwoman) crawl back, she has been named the animal she resembles the most, a cat. When I was walking around forte dei marmi last summer, I bumped into her with awe. As I couldn't keep my eyes of her look I wondered what she thinks when she looks at herself in the mirror: 'I look like a cat', or, 'This is the face I have always dreamed of'.

How did covering broozed eyes behind the latest Tom Ford sunglasses and competing with daughter and granddaughter suddenly became a status trademark in Paris?
Do they come home one day saying "Bonjour chéri, I have a new lover who is dressed in a white coat and a needle filled with poison, he only charges me 1000 a wrinkle"?
I would be less gob smacked by this new trend if I were living on the other side of the Pacific, but mister white outfit seems to also be having a love affair in Paris.

The skin colored patches behind which these women hide their new lovers interests stand in such a great contrast to the cities historical beauty and heritage. I have always considered that age is just a number and that each wrinkle has its own story. Doesn't getting older come with wisdom, heart filled memories, better style and a bigger shoe closet?

Well in 21st Century Paris, it comes with a new face...La Parisienne isn't 'all that naturelle' anymore.

Overdressed, Underdressed

- Just a small gathering at 'Le Bon Marche' -

Le Bon Marché and Dior are celebrating the heritage of the legendary fashion house. As a friend and I attend an evening presentation of the mini-exhibition, it seems that, in the mist of all the Galliano buzz, nobody seems to care anymore. The subject has changed to where the Stella McCartney party is taking place later on that night.

We follow the crowd up to the highest floor and enter the world of Dior. A minimalist look into how much fashion changes, but yet remains the same. Sounds, videos and a virtual book revision us the most iconic pieces of the fashion house.

It is only than that we realise to be underdressed for the occasion. The women we are surrounded with seem to have done their shopping at 'Le Bon Marché' earlier that afternoon. Tutu's, LBD's and tropical inspired cocktail ensembles smack us in the face. The number of Lady Diors that have been united under one roof looks criminal, they must have been robbed earlier that evening from the Parisian Dior boutiques.  

We both confirm to be officially underdressed, but do wonder if it's not these women that have taken a five minute fashion exhibition a little bit too seriously. Out off plain astonishment, we drag ourselves to the bar and decide to forget about the whole thing and get tipsy on Moët Chandon.

With refills from cute looking waiters, foie gras, eclairs and macarons brought to us while we spend the evening judging the scene from the designer couch that we took over - J'adore DIOR still seems to be the best way to resume the evening for us.

The ladies who lunch

- The it-bag parade -

It all began in the sixties, when New York socialites and other American notables like Jackie O, Babe Paley and Nan Kemper made it a sport to put on their newest of the runway looks to meet their equally fabulous friends at the big apple hotspots. You could say that these slender, perfectly groomed women were the it-girls avant la lettre. And although the New York socialites like Paris Hilton, Tinsley Mortimer, Olivia Palermo and Amanda Hearst still seem to find their ways into the tabloids, I have to say that their Parisian counterparts could defintely compete to the test.

A luncheon at Colette seems to be the perfect hotspot for the Parisian ladies who lunch to show off their it-outfits. Ever wondered what a head to toe Balmain runway look looks like in real life? Or how about fur-heaven? Feel like stealing a YSL - Lanvin - Proenza Schouler it bag? You name it, Colette's basement has got it.

And although it seems like a very SATC thing to do, going out for lunch all dressed up to the nines. These ladies don't really come to enjoy their salade, nor to watertaste a chateau Perrier from the waterbar and definetly not to talk about their love lifes. They come to see and be seen. Everybody who's somebody seems to wanna make a statement. And statements they make, while blowing air kisses to one another and commenting their frennemies new hairdo, they wiggle their perfect behinds on Louboutain stilettos up the stairs to see what holy Colette sees as the next big thing.

After a 30 min wait to be seated, lunch and coffee. I don't seem to take it anymore. Never have I seen so many it-bags re-united under one roof, and I am not talking about the PS1 Proenza Schouler that Colette sold in all the colors of the rainbow, I am talking about the the luxury leathergoods that came for lunch. I cannot deny that I am a bag maniac, I always seem to find an excuse to buy a new one. Bags are like armcandy, they can uplift any boring outfit, give you an instant new look and entertain not only you but also everyone around you. Show me your bag and I will tell you who you are. And believe me, there is much to kiss and tell when being surrounded by the Parisian ladies who lunch at Colette.

How the sun overclouded my wardrobe

- What's the weather got to do with it -

The first rays of sunshine have officially embarked the city. With layers and layers of wool and fur coming off, it looks like the Metropole has been lifted off its feet. Paris feels enlighted by a fulfilling sense of self.

If this beam of yellow light uplifts the most arrogant of cities, I do wonder what summer is going to be like.

I suddenly feel like taking my clothes off and putting on a little Hervé Leger number with Louboutin platforms ... unfortunately  I soon realise my summer tan isn't in the same state of mind. And although I don't like to say NO to this kind of weather, 17 degrees, at this point in time, mid-february - I really do not feel prepared for a skin showing fashion moment.

With Paris fashion week coming up, I can't wait to see the global fashionista community parade around town for those magical runway extravaganzas. These women - on the contrary of moi - do come prepared and don't care if the weather gods are going to be in a good mood or not. They will be showing off their tanned skin - that looks like they just spend 2 weeks non stop on Nikky beach in St Tropez - and this summers hot sunshine approved trends, no matter how cold or grey the city is.

I realise that I should take some advice from these 'I wear my tan all year 'round' women on this matter, they obviously don't need no sun to shine. As for me, I settle with feeling light hearted at the thought that summer is only a couple of months away, first passing by that beautiful time of spring, realising that a tanning bed is all I really need for now.

To suffer or not to suffer, that is the question.

- It's all about the shoe -

Having been a 'petite person' for most of my life, 1m57cm to be exact. I have learned to adapt, by putting on heels from the age of 12 and introducing a voluminous hairdo that gives the illusion of winning some height. But when living in the big city, footwear becomes even more important than before. Not only because the competion is high, fashionista's in Paris are on a firstname base with their footwear. They talk Manolo, Jimmy and Christian - streading on Avenue Montaigne as if those modern works of footart are part of their body.

But me, heel walker extr-ordinaire, I am feeling more and more attracted to UGGS. Walking around Paris, taking the metro, bumping into an arrogant Parisian who starts name-calling you, doesn't invite me to do a Carrie Bradshaw around the city.

That minute of hesitation: 'shall I go for comfort or glamour' only lasts for 5 seconds though. When I think about my personal relationship with my heels, I feel an instant shame. They are too beautiful, too perfect, too wonderfull, too old hollywood glamour... to say NO to. The hesitation has turned me into to the woman and her shoes.

The woman and her shoes, although it might just sound like a regular sentence, there is a higher meaning to it. No man, nor comfort can come in between a woman and the wonderfull things shoes can do to her confidence, mood, state of mind and silhouette. So that moment when a woman stands in front of her closet full of shoes - hesitating which wonder can join her for a night out on the town - she is in another world, the world of Blahnik, Choo and Louboutin, a world of jetset and pure glamour. And although cabfair has gone skyrocking since my arrival into the city of lights. Nothing and I really do mean nothing is more larger than life than living it on stiletto's.

There's a first time for everything

- The Coco wishlist -

Firsts, some are memorable like your first kiss, the first time you make love, the first time you fall head over heels with mister wrong and let's not forget the first time you saw 'Pretty Woman'.

And then there are those firsts you rather ban out of your memory like the first time you had a fight with your boyfriend or the first time you got sick in front of that boyfriend or how about the horrible memory of the first time you got laid off and your hart was broken.

Then there are those first fashion moments... those moments when your credit card magically passes the test of checking off that wonderfull first DVF wrapdress, Christian Louboutin pumps, Louis Vuitton handbag and Hervé Leger party outfit from your wishlist. Come'on ladies, there's no denying that you don't have such a list and that you don't feel up in the clouds when you get to check of an item of it.

Although those fashion firsts are very moving and exciting, it is nothing compared to checking off an icon from the OMG- its- a -Chanel- wishlist. Yes boys, our Chanel wanna- have- list, correction: gotta-have-list, doesn't end with a dose of N°5, the list goes on and on: The 2.55 handbag (in multiple colors that is), the pearl necklace, the never going out of style blazer, the J12 watch,... - and since fashion is ever evolving, especially with uncle Karl on board, this list fluctuates according the VOGUE bible prescriptions.

Let me tell you about that first personal affair with Coco. Walking through that black laqué framed door, housing all those little wonders - knowing you will go home with a little piece of Chanel, is worth having a wishlist for. Even witnessing your friends first Coco moment, it feels like your re-living your own! Whenever in need to know you are still alive, just book yourself a trip to the wonderfull world of Chanel, the beautifull and timeless creations that live there will most certainly reboost your energie. And if you are asking for my opinion: Champagne is in order when mister Visa doesn't bail on you!

Marché Saint Pierre

- How to spice up your creative life -

Who would ever think that you would find the worlds largest fabric market at the foot of Montmartre.

One big fabric store next too an even bigger fabric store. When entering this walhalla of jersey, satin, linen and faux fur, you feel your inner Coco, Valentino and even YSL coming up. 

Yarns and yarns of beautiful (and also very ugly) fabrics make you want to grab a sewing machine. All of the sudden you are convinced that you are able to create your own Chanel jacket, red Valentino evening gown and YSL smoking. Or how about your own Vera Wang wedding dress...

But than again when you snap back in to real life,you realise that you have never sewn anything - let alone an of the runway designer look.

So I guess, this little tip comes in handy whenever you are in need of a little creative pick-me-up. Marché St. Pierre is the place to make your wildest dream come true, that is for 50 seconds... 

Shopping in Paris

- Something for everyone -

The winter sales will be starting in a couple of days. And as a fashionlover myself, I find it upmost important to give you readers some guidances into my Parisian shopping experiences.

HIGH FASHION SHOPPER
If you are looking for the big designer flagship stores, 'le triangle d'or' will be your cup of tea. Gucci, Prada, Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton, you name, the golden trianlge (Avenue Montaigne, Avenue George V and Rue François 1er) has got it. Crossing the Champs Elysees and taking the Rue faubourg St Honoré brings you in  another one of Paris's premium shopping hubs. Christian Louboutin, Lanvin, YSL, Hermès make even window shopping exciting. Further down the road, you will be passing Longchamp, Max Mara, John Galliano and off course the temple off all things trendy Colette.

Main streets: Avenue Montaigne, Avenue George V, Rue François 1er, Rue Faubourg St. Honoré, Rue St. Honore, Rue Cambon

CHIC FASHION SHOPPER

I am a big fan of shopping at the left bank's- St Germain des pres, where typical BCBG French brands like Comptoir des cottoniers, Maje, Sandro, Tara Jarmon, Sonia Rykiel, Gerard Darel are well represented. Hermès and Ralph Lauren recently opened the most breathtaking stores in this district and rumor is that Chanel will soon be joining them.

..."Rive Gauche exprime un luxe qui n'est pas celui de la fortune,
mais de l'attitude' (Yves Saint Laurent)....

Main streets: Blvd. St.-Germain, Rue St. André-des-Arts, Rue de Sèvres , Rue de Rennes, Rue St. Sulpice

ECLECTIC FASHION SHOPPER

Explore boutiques of up-and-coming designers, shop for vintage or visit original stores like Merci and L'eclaireur. All shops are open on sunday, when the area is filled with people from all over the world. The Marais is rich with nooks and hidden courtyards... You never know when an absolute shopping treasure might just wait around the corner.

Main streets: Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, Place des Vosges, Rue de Turenne, Rue des Rosiers

DEPARTMENT STORE SHOPPER

When you are looking to find everything under one roof - Les galeries lafayette, le printemps or le bon marché - will be the best shopping destination for you. Where 'Les galeries lafayette' love to welcome tourists, 'Le printemps' is setting his eye on a luxury shopping experience with a whole new deco and a floor dedicated to high couture jewelry. 'Le bon marché' on the other hand is known to welcome the typical rive gauche client.

When it rains in Paris

- It's raining cats and dogs...What to do -

This morning I motivated myself to go and see the Monet exhibition at the Grand Palais, near the Champs Elysees. As the exhibition is coming to its end and everybody seems to talk fondly of it, I really had no excuse to skip this cultural highpoint.

As I walk out of the metro station, it starts pouring rain...
Arriving at the entrance of the Grand Palais, with my broken umbrella in hand - I realise that I am not the only one wanting to see the last glimps of the seasons most talked about exhibition. As I face to wait outside of this beautiful architectual building for 3 hours in the most depressing rain since Audrey Hepburn looking for Cat in Breakfast at Tiffany's - I could not help but to lose my cultural appetite.

And even now, being home, looking online what I should have done...google tells me that when it rains in Paris, you are best of visiting a museum...How ironic

Dining out: Le grand colbert

- A traditional Parisian brasserie -

 As Diane Keaton can't stop talking about 'le grand colbert' in the movie 'something's gotta give', I had to see and taste it for myself.

And she sure did have a point - when entering the old town house, and admiring the impeccable interior with high walls, relics, sculpted pilasters and their consoles, mosaique floors and pompeian style paintings you know your are in for a treat.

The menu suggests a typical Parisian dinner, from fresh sea food platters, onion soup, escargots to blanquette, steak with french fries and beef tartare, finishing with a splendid dessert like crêpes suzette, profiteroles with hot chocolate or tarte tatin.

The setting is perfect for impressing your date, celebrating a birthday or enjoying a nice dinner with friends and family - This address sure is a keeper.

Diamonds are forever - Bulgari exhibition at the Grand Palais, Paris

- 125 years of exceptional Italian jewelry -

Andy Warhol used to say that he enjoyed visiting the Bulgari store, it was 'the most important museum of contemporary art'.

And art it is... From the first original jewels made by Sotirio Bulgari, to the typical colorfull styles from the '50s and '60s - the years of the Cinecitta, the eclectic creative pieces from the 70's, the iconical jewels from the Bulgari heritage...every piece displayed at the exhibition is a true piece of art.

The most exciting thing about the expo isn't only the diamonds, it was the way colors, forms and creativity are re-united in every piece of jewelry.

One of the galaries was dedicated to Elisabeth Taylor's personal Bulgari collection. She might not have had the best taste in men, but she sure does know her jewelery. During the filming of Cleopatra in Italy, Elisabeth used to spend afternoons in the Bulgari store, talking to Gianni Bulgari about all sorts of things, but especially about her love for diamonds.

The exhibition only lasts until the 12th of January, but it sure is worth the trip.