Tuesday. I like to think of this day as the single moment in the week where my absolutely brilliant, timely, possibly world-changing questions are answered by a host of French women (and sometimes men) who look aghast, roll-their eyes and give me the best response they can come up with in the alloted time my patience holds out. When the queries are made by telephone I hear sighs, when presented in e-mail format I wait impatiently. Shortly thereafter, I send an e-mail reminder.
Exceptionnellement I didn't get my questions out on the public platform in time to meet my rigorous deadlines.
Therefore, ta-da . . . You will be treated to another one of my "whatever catches my fancy or ignites my imagination" -- yes, you guessed it: A Pot Pourri (!)
Surely you're as excited as I am. . .
It All Started Yesterday
In my weekly "conversation" with mon amie, Jeanne-Aelia, when choosing women in politics and their fashion sense, or usually non-sense (please see yesterday's post chez elle and chez moi.) I noticed the sandals Carla Bruni-Sarkozy was wearing while meeting and greeting at the front door of the Elysee Palace.
Presto, my little mind never stops whirling -- it's terrifying really -- I thought: let's take a look at Carla's shoe choices ever since she married the diminutive president of France.
Continuing on The Theme (More or Less)
I apologize in advance, but here comes an outburst: I HATE THEM!
It makes no difference to me if they're so "in" that photographers are tripping over themselves photographing stars on the street wearing them, that even Chanel and Prada want a piece of the action, that they're all over the fashion magazines, that I saw them in every boutique selling shoes in Paris yesterday. I don't care!
I still hate them.
The French call them "sabots" -- I don't know what you call them. I call them clunky, chunky and ugly.
Pictured here a quick review. From the top: Chanel, Miu-Miu, Sonia Rykiel, Marni and Ralph Lauren. (Actually, I hate Ralph's the least even though they give the impression the cowgirl left half of her boot in the stirrup).
Don't even ask about the prices.
Let the dissenters come back with their arguments.
Big, Bold, Bare & Totally Out There
In another of Jeanne-Aelia's and my Transatlantic Parallels we talked about nudity in advertising. The other day when I was snapping on-the-street pictures for your delectation I turned around and saw this giant ad turning slowly on some magic axis on the side of several kiosks.
If she and I hadn't recently discussed the subject I don't think I would have noticed.
Think Pink: Rose and Rosé
Veuve Clicquot is introducing a limited edition rose bottle, which I suppose translates "collectors' item, might be worth something someday, even empty" of its festive rosé champagne.
It is priced at a mere 50 Euros, considerably more expensive than the Lagerfeld Coca-Cola Light bottles which you will note have a pink chapeau.
It's a tough call. What to collect, what to drink, what to ignore completely.
Ed. Note: As I mentioned Edith is in Corsica so our usual Wednesday "playing dress-up" feature will not be part of tomorrow's entertainment unless I can figure out a way to draw clothes on stick figures. Do not fear, I'll be here, but sadly without Edith who is probably swimming, sunning and shopping. Poor Edith.