straight lines/messy year

Well, it's the end of 2017, not a great year here in the US, the less said the better, soso year in Britain, awaiting its Brexit, okay year in France where Macron managed to pull it off.

I end with geometric lines, accumulated during the Paris week in December. 

 I followed this woman in the Métro because I really liked the way her Freitag bag, silver  and black, went so well with the white and black stripes at the bottom of her coat. I do enjoy people watching, and observing what they are wearing, how they are presenting themselves to the world. Here, she was just no nonsense, let's go, I need to get to work (or wherever she was going).

 The movie theater on the Boulevard de Montparnasse, Les 7 Parnassiens, still shows really good independent films and still has a small cafe space where you can drop off books, and read new ones.

And then, last but not least, a nice surprise at Orly Airport. Fun colorful bathrooms. 

Here's to the comfort of straight, geometric lines in what has turned out to be a difficult year. 

Mid December in Uppsala, Sweden

In Uppsala Sweden for the weekend before heading back to the States. Uppsala is a university town, and my friend Laure who lives there with her partner has shown me the second hand stores, consignment shops and charity shops. 

The Swedes love Christmas, and decorations are everywhere. 

So are winter coats, that can be acquired very cheaply, including beautiful furs and sheep skins. The Swedes seem to favor puffy coats in the winter, and have clearly become more ethical about their winter wear, hence the profusion of animal skin coats in the second hand stores.

Paris endures

This December, I am back in Paris for a week for many reasons, including simply being in Paris. Simply being in Paris means, for me at least, lots and lots of walking.
One can choose any street and follow it, until one decides to move to a different street.
This week, I followed rue Falguière in the 15th to rue de la Procession in the 14th, only to discover the urban planning of the 1960s and 70s. I was looking for a place to drop off my compost, which I did find in a community garden in the middle of a "ZAC" ("Zone d'aménagement concerté), an urban zone in which private and public entities work together to find solutions for lower income dwellers.

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Paris endures, Paris doesn't change. Paris still has women in thick woolen scarves elegantly wrapped around their necks.

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Paris also means the continuing existence of the "librairie papéterie," where one can not only buy books but also paper, notebooks, pens, and all kinds of colorful leather items.

Paris means museums, like the Musée de la Monnaie where I quite enjoyed the exhibit "Woman/House" that featured feminist artists from all over the world whose work concentrates on ideas about the home and domesticity. 

The museum was and remains the "money" museum, in an 18th century edifice, one of those many elegant buildings that grace France's capital. I took this shot in one of the many mirrored doors, capturing once again the travel coat, the Barbour I found in a vintage store in Northampton, MA, and that has been doing its best to keep me warm and dry. 

Paris still has its famous Saint-Ouen flea market where I went with a friend in search of a night stand. We didn't find one, but we did enjoy a meal at the Bistrot Voltaire where the waitresses are friendly, and the prix fixe lunch a deal. 

Paris means so many things, the metro that takes you from everywhere to everywhere, the buses that zigzag through its streets offering the best value tour of the city for a mere 1€90, the Paris Opera with its reliably graceful dancers sporting the latest couture...

  

Paris, sadly, also means beggars, homeless people, oblivious bourgeoisie still living in a bubble, fathers taking their tired children shopping on Saturday afternoons, overcrowded apartments, streets, buses, metros, breakdowns on the airport express train. But Paris endures. 

Another "PA" city where I was before Paris, Palermo. Totally random closing photo taken of a Vespa wheel cover turned into a lampshade in a bar in the Kalsi district. Another city well worth the visit, and for the same reasons, sharing the messiness and the beauty. 

Coats

Back in New York City for a few days, visiting family and friends, galleries, seeing films, eating and drinking, feeling the city vibe. I had to pack just one coat for a month long trip that begins and ends in New York, with southern Europe (Sicily) and northern Europe (Sweden) at the two longitudinal extremes. Last summer I found a brand new Barbour coat in a vintage store in Northampton, MA. Thank you Barbour coat for existing. You have a lovely soft cotton interior that feels like a blanket covering me on long bus and train rides. You have many pockets where I can stash away winter woolie hats and little water bottles to keep me hydrated on long urban walks. You are windproof and waterproof. You are perfect.

My aging body is feeling colder, in French we say "frilleuse," and coats have taken on a new function for me: vertical bed, enveloping me, comforting me as I walk through frigid spaces. In Burlington, Vermont, I picked up a boiled wool grey coat, slightly too big for me, but so enveloping, it helps me to face the day. It's like a warm, wooly fortress. In New York, I found a black Geiger boiled coat that makes me feel elegant. And now the Barbour coat, photographed in the Ai Wei Wei sculpture in Washington Square Park, the narcissistic cage, I call it. So many tourists have photographed themselves inside that mirrored cage. How many realize the joke? But I'm getting off topic. 

Inside the dressing room at Beacon's Closet on 13th Street, I try on a Frye suede coat. The photo does not do it justice. I would have taken it home with me had the snaps been in better shape. But the Barbour coat, hanging to the left, was waiting patiently for me to make up my mind. Yes, I address coats as if they were people. Because they protect me. 

Meanwhile, as I hang around Union Square Park before heading to Bushwick on the L train, I spot another interestingly dressed older woman. I'm still hesitant about wearing animal prints, but she really pulled it off with her enveloping faux fur leopard print coat.

Velvet is back

The Pink Alligator had this dress, in velvet by Theory (as opposed to in theory by Velvet). (Brand names these days can be so pretentious, especially the one word, one syllable concept, "Toast" being the latest to embed itself in my Facebook stream). 

Meanwhile, I discover the timer on my iPhone photo app. Not a big discovery I'm sure. But it was fun dancing to AltJ and snapping away in the new dress before heading out to a dinner at a restaurant elegant enough for the coming out of this new acquisition. 

I'm glad that velvet is back. The fabric is warm, comforting and elegant. It befits the holidays or the holidays befit it. As the light becomes fragile and less abundant, as we descend into cold harsh darkness, velvet soothes and helps to overcome the dreariness of the season. It evokes Mick Jagger in the 70s, heck any and all rock stars in the 70s. 

I enjoyed this post from Esquire that also found its way into my Facebook feed. Some of the fashions were amazing and remain timeless. 

I found my velvet piece in a local consignment shop. Etsy is always a great online source. Here is a lovely velvet dress that comes with a matching coat.