On my first trip to Paris I didn’t go into one clothing boutique, seriously, not one. What the hell was I thinking? I know! This time I made a must-do list of boutiques. I google-mapped directions, and studied each location; I was so ready, by the time I hit the streets I could provide locals with directions. Slightly compulsive, but I like to think of myself as prepared.
One of my favorite boutiques was Isabel Marant. The small black building was tucked away on rue Saintonge. I had the whole place to myself. Walking slowly from rack to rack, I made sure to exam every single article that hung from those wooden hangers. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I knew enough French to ask for my size, and once I had settled on the pieces I wanted to try on, I slipped around the corner, behind the large wooden doors to model for myself my soon-to-be purchases.
Believe it or not, what was purchased doesn’t matter, that is not the point of my story. Down to what matters…
So I approach the counter, and the tall, slim, 35-year-old reaches her hand out to take my clothes. Her slender fingers extend and I glance down to see…oh my! No she wasn’t missing a figure, and her hand did not fall off. She has florescent nail polish. Florescent pink to be exact.
In that moment all I could think was, “People actually wear that!” Garance Dore talked about her summer love for florescent polish, but Garance lives in a dream world where maybe Kate Moss and Karl Lagerfeld have florescent nails, but not the rest of us. But oh was I wrong, apparently the coolness of florescent polish has trickled down to the woman behind the counter. Maybe she reads Garance’s blog, maybe she’s just as cool as Kate and Karl, obviously I don’t know.
I had a minor moment of worldly awareness, thanks to nail polish. This story is stupid, I know. Whatever. No matter what, I won’t be painting my nails florescent pink anytime soon.