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.