Editor's Note - Beth is a frequent contributor to SuzeeBehindtheScenes. Due to certain circumstances, she has left the shores and accents of New Jersey to live in Paris for a bit.
It was "Bonjour" to Paris Fashion Week! And just like that my newly adopted city went from très chic to très chi chi chic. One year into our expat adventures and just when I figured out the scarf thing, Paris raised the glamour bar.
Challenge accepted. Where to start? Inspiration was everywhere. Celebs including Céline Dion, Zendaya, and Emma Stone navigated the cobblestone streets along with willowy wisps of towering haute couture models in spiked heels. My 5’ 2” self was undeterred. I had a plan. And that is how I came to be sitting here at a small outdoor bistro table, drinking a café crème*at Le Café de Bonne Chance.
Although it is 10:30 AM, the cafe is already filled with fashionable women. I study them closely. The woman next to me, sporting an elegant high ponytail, wears the signature nonchalant (but still somehow chalant**) French expression. How hard could it be? Digging through my purse I find an old scrunchie and proceed to put my hair up in what I hope is a French twist.***
The waiter approaches Miss Ponytail. “From the gentleman at the next table,” he says conspiratorially with a smile as he places a crystal flute in front of her. “Perhaps Mademoiselle would accept this champagne?” Mademoiselle slowly looks over to the gentleman. Then looks away. Then takes a long inhale on her cigarette, gives him a glance, and takes a sip.
I spend the next few minutes perfecting what I believe is my best bored/annoyed expression. Pout. Pucker. Pout again. Yet something seems lacking. But what? Of course! The cigarette! I don’t smoke but I am resourceful. I reach for a breadstick and waive it nonchalantly.
Although it is 10:30 AM, the cafe is already filled with fashionable women. I study them closely. The woman next to me, sporting an elegant high ponytail, wears the signature nonchalant (but still somehow chalant**) French expression. How hard could it be? Digging through my purse I find an old scrunchie and proceed to put my hair up in what I hope is a French twist.***
The waiter approaches Miss Ponytail. “From the gentleman at the next table,” he says conspiratorially with a smile as he places a crystal flute in front of her. “Perhaps Mademoiselle would accept this champagne?” Mademoiselle slowly looks over to the gentleman. Then looks away. Then takes a long inhale on her cigarette, gives him a glance, and takes a sip.
I spend the next few minutes perfecting what I believe is my best bored/annoyed expression. Pout. Pucker. Pout again. Yet something seems lacking. But what? Of course! The cigarette! I don’t smoke but I am resourceful. I reach for a breadstick and waive it nonchalantly.
I’m pretty sure I nailed it. In fact, I did!
As proof the waiter approaches me. ME! “From the gentleman at the next table” he says as he places a glass of tap water in front of me. “Perhaps Madame would accept some water and allow him to call her a taxi?” “Or perhaps a doctor?” Madame (that’s me) looks at the gentleman. Then at the waiter. Then at the breadstick. I take this as a good start.
After all, The Pope is a hard act to follow.
*See! Already I have glammed up “coffee with milk”
**Yes, “chalant” is a word. Just ask Gen Z
*** Lacking a mirror, it might be more French Poodle than French twist but let’s go with it.
*** Lacking a mirror, it might be more French Poodle than French twist but let’s go with it.