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.