Life at the Bottom of the French Fashion Heap
It’s time you know that I am quite certain that I am one of the worst dressed women in France. France’s population is a little over 60 million. If we assume that at least half of the French are women, this puts me on the very bottom of a pretty large pile.
France, of course, is famous for fashion and is home to international fashion power houses such as Dior, Givenchy and Chanel. (I confess that I had to look that up as I am woefully ignorant about fashion designers.) We even get a television station dedicated to fashion, which, from what I can tell, appears to provide endless hours of pleasure to those who enjoy watching anorexic women walk up and down runways. French King Louis XIV, quite the fashion maven himself, reportedly said that fashion is a mirror. Perhaps in my case the mirror could use some glazing.
I would characterize my own fashion tastes as leaning toward Goodwill accessorized with LL Bean. Needless to say, my clothing screams “FOREIGNER.” I might as well be wearing a kimono. No French woman would be caught dead in my clothes. I am astonished when strangers approach me on the street and ask for directions. I want to shout at them, “Look at me, do I look like I am from here? Would any self-respecting French woman ever dress like this?” Alas, I usually just resort to blurting out something incomprehensible in French, and they immediately recognize their folly.
To give you a flavor for my fashion recklessness, let’s start with footwear. My idea of boots includes qualities such as water resistance, toe room and lug soles. They are used for walking on trails, trudging through snow banks, plodding through drenching rains and, of course, for everyday winter wear. They exist in order to keep one’s feet warm, comfortable and dry and to stay upright when encountering hazardous surfaces. French women, on the other hand, believe boots require high heels and knee-length leather, preferably black and tight. Curiously, Gore-Tex is not a preferred boot fabric among French women. The occasions for wearing boots in France seem to have little or no correlation to inclement weather or hazardous conditions. From what I can see, they are used only to attract French men and perhaps to kill people à la James Bond. And I am quite sure they are not purchased at LL Bean.
We had a few days of cold weather in November and I found myself biking into school thinking, “Finally winter is here, surely even French women can’t manage to look that good in winter.” I arrived at school, and Marina, the very attractive French teacher I had at the time, was wearing a bulky sweater with a wide neck that hung so low that it left her shoulders bare. She looked lovely. It was then that I realized the extent to which French women are willing to suffer.
I’ve tried suffering a few times. It’s simply not me. More than a couple of hours of discomfort, and I find myself completely distracted with fantasies about my pajamas. Yes, yes, I know, it’s possible to look good and be comfortable. It’s just not easy.
I regret that I may be taking my fellow American women down with me, unfairly giving all of us a bad name. Some American women obviously do dress well. How can I explain to the French that, even among American women, I am in the bottom quartile? It’s just that the bottom quartile, at least in New Hampshire, isn’t as lonely as the very bottom of the heap in France. There aren’t many of us here in the fashion entrails. In fact, since the hardy woman from Saskatchewan left my class, I am alone.
Marty, being very sweet and more than a little delusional, reassures me that “You look good. You’re bringing new style to France.” Now I hesitated to share this bit of personal information with you because I think it makes him certifiably mad. I decided, however, that it is unlikely that they would actually put him into any institution for the insane since he is largely harmless to the general public.
Needless to say, there has been little evidence so far that I have influenced French fashion. Next year, however, if you see wrinkled, baggy clothes on the Paris runway, you can say you saw them in New Hampshire first.
France, of course, is famous for fashion and is home to international fashion power houses such as Dior, Givenchy and Chanel. (I confess that I had to look that up as I am woefully ignorant about fashion designers.) We even get a television station dedicated to fashion, which, from what I can tell, appears to provide endless hours of pleasure to those who enjoy watching anorexic women walk up and down runways. French King Louis XIV, quite the fashion maven himself, reportedly said that fashion is a mirror. Perhaps in my case the mirror could use some glazing.
I would characterize my own fashion tastes as leaning toward Goodwill accessorized with LL Bean. Needless to say, my clothing screams “FOREIGNER.” I might as well be wearing a kimono. No French woman would be caught dead in my clothes. I am astonished when strangers approach me on the street and ask for directions. I want to shout at them, “Look at me, do I look like I am from here? Would any self-respecting French woman ever dress like this?” Alas, I usually just resort to blurting out something incomprehensible in French, and they immediately recognize their folly.
To give you a flavor for my fashion recklessness, let’s start with footwear. My idea of boots includes qualities such as water resistance, toe room and lug soles. They are used for walking on trails, trudging through snow banks, plodding through drenching rains and, of course, for everyday winter wear. They exist in order to keep one’s feet warm, comfortable and dry and to stay upright when encountering hazardous surfaces. French women, on the other hand, believe boots require high heels and knee-length leather, preferably black and tight. Curiously, Gore-Tex is not a preferred boot fabric among French women. The occasions for wearing boots in France seem to have little or no correlation to inclement weather or hazardous conditions. From what I can see, they are used only to attract French men and perhaps to kill people à la James Bond. And I am quite sure they are not purchased at LL Bean.
We had a few days of cold weather in November and I found myself biking into school thinking, “Finally winter is here, surely even French women can’t manage to look that good in winter.” I arrived at school, and Marina, the very attractive French teacher I had at the time, was wearing a bulky sweater with a wide neck that hung so low that it left her shoulders bare. She looked lovely. It was then that I realized the extent to which French women are willing to suffer.
I’ve tried suffering a few times. It’s simply not me. More than a couple of hours of discomfort, and I find myself completely distracted with fantasies about my pajamas. Yes, yes, I know, it’s possible to look good and be comfortable. It’s just not easy.
I regret that I may be taking my fellow American women down with me, unfairly giving all of us a bad name. Some American women obviously do dress well. How can I explain to the French that, even among American women, I am in the bottom quartile? It’s just that the bottom quartile, at least in New Hampshire, isn’t as lonely as the very bottom of the heap in France. There aren’t many of us here in the fashion entrails. In fact, since the hardy woman from Saskatchewan left my class, I am alone.
Marty, being very sweet and more than a little delusional, reassures me that “You look good. You’re bringing new style to France.” Now I hesitated to share this bit of personal information with you because I think it makes him certifiably mad. I decided, however, that it is unlikely that they would actually put him into any institution for the insane since he is largely harmless to the general public.
Needless to say, there has been little evidence so far that I have influenced French fashion. Next year, however, if you see wrinkled, baggy clothes on the Paris runway, you can say you saw them in New Hampshire first.
posted by Nancy at 10:55 AM
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