It was late morning when I made my way via bus to le Musée des Arts Décoratifs. And as I had a timed ticket, I was ushered straight through. What an eye-popping entrance to the event (so on point for Schiaparelli). Hello!

I was lost and mesmerized upon entering the show. All of these events are held in windowless rooms, kept very dark so as to protect the clothing and art. It’s nearly impossible to read some of the descriptions, it’s that dark. And I wasn’t the only one. Lots of people got down near the floor trying to read the details.

Salvador Dali was a friend and had tremendous influence…

The sheer weight of some of these articles of clothing was astounding. The fabric alone is oftentimes weighty (remember Lady Gaga in that red number at President Biden’s Inauguration?), and adding to that, Schiaparelli often uses/used a lot of beading and even metal structures today.

I walked around, amazed. The modern house has kept true to her vision, from what I can tell. They’ve stepped it up a few notches, too, for sure. I thought if I were a celebrity, could I pull this off? I’m not so sure I could. I think these pieces would wear me. It takes a certain type of personality and a lot of courage to don some of these ensembles. I could totally see doing it for a photo shoot, but to actually wear one of these to an event? Wow. Still, what a visual delight!

I took way too many photos/videos – mostly for my niece, Emily – and I can’t wait to share them with her. XO

Afterwards, I walked by McDonald’s and considered it, but no. I stopped instead at a wonderful brasserie, Café de Paris, where I enjoyed a Croque Monsieur. I have to have one when I’m here; it’s tradition. I also had wonderful conversations with the serveurs and was able to practice my French, which they told me is very good. They think English is so easy, and they know their language is a challenge – even for them, at times. I loved that they didn’t know where I was from! As you know by now, I consider that to be progress. After a while, my limited vocabulary is apparent, but, I don’t care. It’s an opportunity to learn. Everyone is lovely and helpful. The café wasn’t busy, so the atmosphere was relaxed and conversation was easy. As I left, the one waiter shouted, au revoir, Madame, and made a heart with his two hands over his chest, and then blew me a kiss. Ah, Paris.

Where I’m living has 3 nearby métro stations, 4 if you count my old neighborhood, which is totally walkable. It was cold now, even for this East Coast girl, and I had to wait for a bus. I took cover from the wind at the bus stop. I had taken my time over un café allongé, so it was getting dark already. I took the 95 bus to my old neighborhood. I thought I’d check the bench for David. No luck.

I bought some of my niece’s favorite lip balm, at my old pharmacie, and walked by one of the local bistros, wondering if Charly still worked there. I wasn’t hungry, but as I perused the outside menu, I looked up and Charly was standing there. And omg, he remembered me. I wasn’t sure he would. He gave me the biggest greeting, les bisous, and ushered me inside where it was warm, serving me a nice glass of red wine. You’d have thought I was a celebrity. His English is better than my French, so we converse easily. We caught up, in between his taking care of patrons, and I enjoyed watching the quiet hubbub as he worked the tables. Serving is another art form, here; such grace and precision with every move.

It was a short walk home, and the bells of Saint-Sulpice are ringing letting me know it’s time to prepare for tomorrow’s class.