(street)styleblogs.

so, even i am interested in fashion to an extent i think most people who meet me may not recognize (especially here in France where i have a limited wardrobe and packed things that i felt more neutral, which is counter to what i usually gravitate towards when getting dressed). i think also, though, my floundering and indecision is indicative of this time in my life. i am no longer a college student who can wear anything as sloppy or as refined as i wish. yet, my job currently is as "jeune fille au pair"--not exactly a title which commands pencil skirts and chanel chain bags (someday i will have you!). plus, i am in a constant state of thinking, "if only i were THINNER, this would look better..." which is so useless/annoying/stupid!

anyway, the whole point of writing this was to compare to street style blogs: both which i love but neither of which i think i will ever be fully elligible for:

the first is hel-looks. shot in helsinki, finland, i appreciate that the photographed get the opportunity to explain what they are wearing and why they like it. the people in these shots are often wearing tons of layers; their outfits are so multi-faceted and colorful, "boring" is the last word that would come to mind. i loves these looks. honestly, i feel best about myself when i have many layers, many things going on, nothing boring. i see pictures of myself when i was younger, and i was good at matching my brown wood earring to my plant-splashed shirt. but now, i am way more interested in mis-matched but INTERESTING. yet, is that okay? when i eventually, inevitably, unfortunately succumb to the corporate world, i hope i can still bring some of this excitement. it reminds me of something a friend of mine said, when we went out for some local music and framboise lambics at mia's in flagstaff and i wore a neon yellow denim skirt, gray tights, stack-healed ankle boots and a purple fur jacket. "what were you thinking when you put that on?" she asked, in all seriousness. "i was thinking that no one else would come up with this combination."


then, there's the inimitable sartorialist, with his book deal and his classic looks. His photos are so well-done, which I definitely appreciate. His models are always beautiful; their style, so refined. They seem, to me, untouchable. Maybe that is why I am more drawn to the helsinki photos: these people, in their glorious imperfection, have looks that are attainable. the sartorialist is fun to look at, but it's not something i could do, i feel. i haven't the money, or the perfect hair, skin, figure, etc., required. yet, i keep coming back to both.

and, i have to admit, i was most excited when i myself was asked to be photographed last summer in new york city for a blog called "style sightings." (believe me, it was in all the best interest of everyone involved here that my face be covered... not to discredit my one-time internet fame!) now, if i could only move to helsinki, where i, too, can state that "i mostly buy second hand"...

PHOPHOPHOPHOPHO!

I got the standard "i-prefer-Australians-to-Americans" glance today from a sweet Asian woman in the Vietnamese restaurant we found near Guillotiere. We were noticeable in the small shop first for our white-ness ("this place is authentic!" we assured each other, looking around at the Vietnamese patrons) and then for our lack of French. The rotund woman, who wore an orange shirt, black, pilled stockings, and flip flops, giggled as she counted out our change, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven!" Then, a man with the most horrifying set of teeth I have ever seen explained to us, in his Asian-accented French, that the area we were in--which was lined with Vietnamese restaurants--was not a good place to be alone. "Couper? Vous comprendez 'couper'?" he asked us, while making a stabbing motion into his side. He then mimed smoking something ilicit, shooting up something evil, and snorting some powders. A good place to be, indeed! But, the soup was good and fulfilling after yesterday's fruitless search for Pho (my mind is still blown regarding how EVERYthing can afford to be closed on Sundays!). Yet, after my wikisearch of "pho" lead to the information that tripe sausage is indeed a common ingredient, I stand by my decision to let the unidentified meatballs float on by!

Íkea.

Is Ikea one of the places one should not venture alone, kind of like Disneyland? Is it worse to be here without someone special, as the average customer is here with their significant other (picking up cheap but still relatively good-looking furniture for their first apartment together, naturally) or their cute and small family? I kind of like it. I also like that the wine flows so freely in Europe; I am fairly certain that there is not a worker at Ikea, Tempe, assigned the job of pouring white and rose wines at the start of the food line. How quaint! And the fact that you can buy entire twist-top bottles for, like, four euros? C'est brilliant! I am proud of myself for resisting!

Maybe Ikea is bad, though. I mean, I can recount at least one blog that suggests going here post-breakup will only lead to sad, sad memories of coming here with the now-ex boyfriend. I personally think of the scene in "500 days of Summer," where Joseph Gordon Levitt (god, please grant me a boy dressed in sweatervests and pumas. please?) and Zooey Deschanel (i'll take her hair for myself, please), frolick in the model rooms. And I myself can't help remembering going to Ikea with a boy I once loved, who picked me up with my favorite coffee drink and bought shelves he never put up just so we could spend time together. Ikea is romantic, apparently, after all.

I think I'll go buy that bottle of wine. I wonder how much French I would need to know for the job of official pourer?

everything's amazing and nobody's happy!

frenchie things. part 1.

les enfants and I pass this foot-tall nipple on the way to school every day.
such a horrid sight would not be allowed in the united states, i am certain!

i think it's funny to my american brain because it is so unnecessary; it could easily have been covered by one of the flowers she us lying on; to the kids, though, they would never give the photo a second glance.

i'm personally happy for the nudity because even if i never achieve my dream of having asian babies, i can at least console myself with the knowledge that my own nipples look a little asian. i would probably never know this otherwise.

thanks, france.

“… my brain is so cluttered with strange and conflicting ideas about what a blog should and shouldn’t be and what I’m trying to do, in general, with this kind of writing — because, I do think that blog-writing is a different kind of writing than edited printed-matter writing– that I’m having trouble figuring out what I even want to say. I keep doubling back and second-guessing and tweaking my word choices and my grammar in even the most basic (i.e., m-dash-free) of sentences. I’m rereading everything to see how it looks through the eyes of some half-imagined critic — a critic who, no matter what I do or say, will always think that I got here, wherever he supposes that to be, by dint of something other than hard work and skill. There is no pleasing this critic, I know. Also, he is (half) imaginary. But I can’t get him out of my head.” “Truths to be self-edited”, Emily Magazine

That being said, here I go:
I have been lucky to spend several lovely Sundays with the family. Last Sunday, I went with Sophie, Bertrand, Jeanne and Julien (Antoine marched off to his friend Alex's house to attend a birthday party; he relishes being allowed to walk the half-block to his friend's apartment alone--what a big boy!) to "Parc Grand," a lovely, grand park outside of Lyon. We were supposed to meet up with some friends, including the small little boy who melted my heart when I first congregated with the Roanne friends by saying to his mother, "She said 'bonjour,' but now she is speaking in English!" and then he stood, proudly looking up at me, and sucessfully told me his name en anglais before colapsing in a fit of giggle. Sadly, the family forgot their cell phone so meeting up did not happen in the huge park, but it was a beautiful, sunny, lovely day and I am luckily not an inch over 5'3" and thus was able to fairly comfortably ride Antoine's bike around the park. Then, we sat in some grass (my favorite activity, bar none) and ate a snack of baguette and white chocolate. "I do not have any black chocolat for you!" Sophie said apologetically. It's so cute how they all say "black chocolate" instead of dark chocolate... I guess it really does make more sense, but it's funny. If and ever I am fully fluent, I know I will make the same sort of "mistakes" (if they can even be called that!) and I have to hope they will be also viewed as "cute!" As I sat with Sophie and watched Bertrand play with his youngest children near the lake, I was again (as I so often am) struck by what a perfect life this seems to be for them. It is honestly picturesque. Maybe some dirty laundry will be aired in the next 8 months but I can't imagine what it could be! So lucky to be so charmed!
This Sunday, I had the honor of enjoying a delicious meal of "moule and frites" avec Sophie's "belle mere" and her "friend." (At least they keep the "friend" designation constant; it was the same word used for Bertrand's father's "friend," the one whom he goes on 7-week-long roadtrips with... ha!). It's funny to me (perhaps because I really did grow up in a house where the art of cooking was pretty much ignored) how healthy Sophie can be about her own diet and the diet of her kids, but on Sundays its pretty much a free-for-all. They even brought out the deep fryer for fresh fries! (My as of yet still abysmal understanding of the language leads me to believe this device was borrowed from a friend.) Three servings of mussels and fries later, we then ate salad, bread, and cheese, natch. THEN for desert was a huge chocolate "birthday" cake and a fruit crumble. All so delcious!
After lunch, the kids were excited to "cut" the pumpkin I had tracked down at Carrefour on Friday. Thankfully, Bertrand stepped it up and assumed his man role because, as I scooped in the innerds from the cute, round gourd, I realized that I have actually never put a knife to a pumpkin myself! I think the entire exercise was a success, and our vampire pumpkin may not look very scary (leading me to think his given name of "Larry" is more appropriate than "Scary Pumpkin"), but it was a good time. On every window of the house, there are blinds that I thought were just to keep light out at night but I realize now are to help keep the cold out! By shutting these on the kitchen windows, the glowing pumpkin (Bertrand inserted the candle successfully) was able to shine. Now, the seeds are drying out and hopefully tomorrow I will be able to successfully give them a true "taste" of American Halloween! The rest of the day was spent rang-ing ma chambre (I was horrified by the state of my living conditions when asked to show Jaqueline the au pair accomodation, as she had never seen them before!). Now things are clean, and I have made up quizzes for Antoine to practice for his next English test. Julien picked some rosebuds in the garden and they are sitting in a cute glass bottle on my table. Tres jolies! It has been a good day and I am looking forward to this week, studying for and doing well on Thursday's French test, TURNING IN MY GLIMPSE APP (!!!), and plotting for Halloween in Nice. Thank goodness Claire's is an accepted American chain here (though possibly because it's American origins are not known--"'Claire" is a French name! My sister's name is Claire!" Sophie told me when we went to Part Dieu and she picked out hair ties for Jeanne and Jeanne's enthusiasm over the large fountain the escalators was a joy (these are tiny things I want not to forget but have already neglected to write!).
I mean this this time: A DEMAIN!
In conclusion, I am going to make more of an effort to update this blog because I think it will be fun to look back on. I am going to try not to worry about how fascinating it is; practice will help me learn to cut the crap!