“Sometimes I think to myself in French and listen to old records from the ’60s”

Seeing as I am not currently in Paris (minor hiccups…don’t worry), I don’t have the wonderful opportunity to gawk at chic Parisian women while I trying to emulate them.  Instead of the catwalks being on Rue de Rivoli, I have the viewing pleasure of “Rue de Wal-Mart.”  And I can promise you (while even though some folks try), honey, it ain’t the same as Paris.

So, to prevent myself from going crazy over ill-fitting jeans and “Insert-Brand-Here” logo shirts, I take to my dearly beloved fashion magazines and blogs.  One of my favorites: Nylon.

And whilst I was perusing their lovely and oh-so-inspiring blog, I stumbled onto a post about this very enjoyable fashion film staring Lizzy Caplan.  But since Vimeo is being a bitch evil, here is the linky-link: Lizzy Caplan for Viva Vena.

xx

hillary rose

PS:  When I do have French women compliment me on my style, I secretly jump for joy and immediately want to frame the outfit.  For, you see, the French women aren’t very apt to give out fashion compliments (but French men on the other hand….)

PPS:  I shouldn’t be too harsh on “Rue de Wal-Mart” seeing as there are some (note some) stylish dressers around my small town.

Peter Pan

image

“If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colors suspended in the darkness; the if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on fire. But just before they go on fire you see the lagoon. This is the nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment…”

J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Rewind: Paris Weekend 101

“When all else fails, tell a Parisian you went to the same school as Michael Jordan.”

It was cold.  And wet.  And rainy.

Underneath one of the tunnels on the Seine, about 50+ people were wildly dancing about.  A DJ was blaring techno, and I spotted a guy dressed as Pickachu and another with a mow-hawk.  The stench of B.O. wafted out from the crowd.

As soon as we approached the party, a bottle came crashing down from overhead.  I sprung back, ready to cuss out the person responsible, but then I decided otherwise (one:  I didn’t feel like getting into a fight; two: I didn’t know any cuss words in French).

My guard went up.  I didn’t know who these crazy people were raging in the tunnel by the river.  I had only been back in the country for one week, and I hadn’t fully adjusted to the unexplainable bizarreness that is France.  But then, I heard a familiar tune.

“In west Philadelphia born and raised 
On the playground where I spent most of my days” 

And all inhibitions were gone….and I began to sing and dance along with the “flailing” Frenchies.  Every nearby Frenchie looked at me with intrigue.  I was a loud American girl who knew every word to the Fresh Prince theme song.  I became lost in a trance of music and dancing until a thick, French voice brought me too.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“AMERICA!” I yelled back.

“Where in America?”

“Caroline du Nord!”

“….ohhh…”

“You know Michael Jordan? Basketball?”

“YEA!”

“He went to my university! UNC!”

“NO WAAAYYYY!!!!”

He spun me around before dancing off to smoke a cigarette.  I knew this was bound to be an interesting night.  I was back in France, and back where I needed to be.

P1140850

I kept on dancing and singing and dancing and singing before deciding to take a break.  But on my way out of the crowd, I ran into my new au pair friends and a group of French guys.  And it wasn’t long until one of the guys had picked me out.

We danced and had a good laugh.  He spoke good english, but tried to get me to speak in French.  However, his laughter was making me extremely self conscious, and I really wanted to take a break from the madness.  So, I grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the crowd and to the side of the river.

It was slightly raining, and the ground was wet.  But I didn’t care.  I demanded that he sit down with me and pulled him down beside me.  He started to complain about the rain, but I told him I didn’t care.  I wanted to sit down on the side of the Seine and soak in Paris.

…

Yes.  I made this poor French boy sit down on the wet ground and in the rain so I could soak in a city he was all too familiar with.  So, we sat.  I blabbed on about this lovely city and how it’s impossible to explain its magic to those that have never been.  He kept nodding and muttering in agreement.  But it was obvious he could care less about the magic of Paris; he was more concerned with trying to kiss me…

And the kiss he finally got.

Ohhhh, what’s an American girl to do?

Especially a Southern belle living in a country that is nothing like her own…

xx

hillary rose

PS:  Yes, this is a “flashback” post…but a good one.

PPS:  Even in the rain, Paris is full of magic…

Only until midnight….

‘Yes, my child, but like all dreams, well, I’m afraid this can’t last forever. You’ll have only ’til midnight, and then…”

-Fairy Godmother, Cinderella

IMG_1032

It started as a simple Sunday afternoon.  A quick browse at the La Defense Christmas Markets (narrowly avoiding paying 300 euros on a leather jacket) and then on to the Champs Élysées Christmas Markets.

But seeing as we were exhausted from our weekend adventures, we decided to make a detour to a nearby café.  Plus, we wanted to wait for the sun to set so we could see the markets in all their shiny glory at night.

At least that was our plan…

For, you see…when you get a loud Brit and an even louder American together in some fancy French café off the Champs, you are destined for trouble.  It’s not even two minutes into our conversation when two American businessmen sitting nearby invite us to join them for wine and cheese.

Seeing as we are two broke au pairs living in a foreign country, we were happy to pull our chairs up to their table.  But what started as one bottle of wine with bread and cheese quickly became a second bottle of wine with even more bread and cheese.

They were friendly folk, and free wine and cheese made them even friendlier.  And it was nice not to be the only two loud english speakers in a French café.

We conversed on life and how we became au pairs.  They explained how they travel to different countries for their job and tried to impress us by mentioning they usually have their own driver.

Wine kept being poured, and I made sure to keep eating bread and drinking water.

But somewhere in the midst of our conversation, dinner was offered.  Again, seeing as we are both poor au pairs living in a very expensive city (and after brief eye contact agreement with my partner in crime), we said yes.

We took drinks in the hotel bar of the Marriott on the Champs.  I had scotch, and I kept being distracted by all the shiny lights and fancy dressed folks.  It was slightly unreal.  Then, finally, it was time for dinner.

An expensive bottle of champagne to toast the night.  A few glasses of wine.  Baskets of bread.  Foie gras for a starter.  Duck for a main dish.  Crème brûlée for a dessert.

We calculated our dinner to be about 300 euros….EACH.

(And this does not include the appetizers earlier or the drinks at the bar…and apparently, the champagne was 1000 euros)

….

I was stuffed….and one happy girl…

It was almost like a dream.  One minute I’m dealing with screaming children, and the next, I’m being offered expensive champagne in a fancy restaurant.

But then, like all dreams, they must come to an end.  Especially, when the clock strikes midnight, and you have to wake up early the next morning.

So, I demanded to go home…and stood firmly by my demand.

…

A taxi was quickly flagged and money for the fare was handed to us.  We waved our goodbyes, and told the cabbie where to take us.

The dream was over, and like Cinderella after midnight, we were back to our normal selves….

xx

hillary rose

Simply living…

 

 

 

 

“King and queen, now, we’ll climb the highest peak 

And call it ours, paint the sky and bring the stars. 

Lift me off the ground, we’re gonna spin around ’till we collapse, 

Burn the map stay where we’re at…”

-”Somewhere to Hide,” Shiny Toy Guns


phonto

What is my life?

One crazy adventure?

Brash move plus another brash move mixed with some damn good luck?

Not the “norm” for a 22 year-old young lady?

….

What’s a small town Southern belle doing in a city like Paris?

….

Living. Simply living.

bisous

hillary rose

What is this crazy life?

“Never forget that life can only be nobly inspired and rightly lived if you take it bravely and gallantly, as a splendid adventure in which you are setting out into an unknown country, to face many a danger, to meet many a joy, to find many a comrade, to win and lose many a battle.”

-Annie Besant

10 Things I’ve Learned Recently

  1. Listen to yourself and your wants.  Other people may tell you what they think you [should] want, but only you truly knows yourself.
  2. Making friends with rich businessmen [can] equals a 1000 euro bottle of champagne and a free 3-course dinner for you and your friend.
  3. A red lipstick always completes an outfit.
  4. Yes, a [faux] fur coat is acceptable while picking up children and shopping at the supermarket.
  5. Don’t try to make it through life’s challenges alone…especially when you are attempting to live in a foreign country….
  6. Big, intimidating bouncers at bars make wonderful body guards from creepy, overeager French boys.
  7. If you REALLY want something, you will find a way of getting it.  Even if it means jumping through some crazy hoops and taking a few wrong turns.
  8. Smiling gets you really far…especially when you are completely lost.
  9. You should ALWAYS smell lovely.
  10. When things get tough, remain calm, positive and confident. But if that doesn’t work, find chocolate!

xoxo,

hillary rose