late night, buying Lacroix (and McQueen)

It’s almost as if the Scar has a different personality of its own.

For last night – after the Day Job, after we Swam and steamed and ate a little spicy food and read in a restaurant and thought about what’s next and what’s now and why and how to cope and all that – we found ourselves Buying Lacroix.

Yes, you read that right.

We thought a walk after supper was a Good Idea and our hair was all swept up in a sort-of-a-chignon and clipped back, still wet from the Pool (too tired to blow-dry, too many corporate-warriors-in-expensive-tiny-non-matching-underwear waiting for the available mirrors/dryers – we gave up) and we thought “oh! A new soft throw cushion might be nice” but the interiors shop was having a private event so we kept walking……

……….and found ourselves in one of those large discount stores where designers would Pale to know their last unsold season merchandise goes to rest.

Now we don’t Like Shopping.

We’re not That Sort of a Lady.

In fact we shop like a man – infrequently, replenishing and cautiously. (well, like a straight man, to be exact, we expect).

But the cloud of satin-y dresses (?!!) floated and sang like exotic birds and we moved through the racks stroking the gorgeous prettiness and musing “this is Rather Fun”.

How Odd.

The items we held up against us were Most curiously Different to our usual strict Mode and for a split second we considered a Baby Blue Satin 40s Dress (quelle Bizarre, darlings) but then we realized we only communed with it because the label said Isaac Mizrahi and we Adore Isaac as you might recall……

We realized we’d never wear it.

It was far too Watching The Polo Match and we have zero interest in sporting participation (which is odd as we’ve dated several Rather Sporty types in our time, darlings).

Then something black (aha!) and Very Pigalle just hung there, taunting us – an Alexander McQueen – slim fitting, slightly naughty and Terribly Bold.

We bought it.

We have No idea if we’ll wear it.

But it certainly looks mighty fine and sassy hanging in our wardrobe/closet/receptacle-of-clothing and we might Tame it with ballet shoes (black) and a long Helmut Lang (black) fine knit jersey that almost stretches to the floor. The naughty skirt will Peek out and Shock momentarily.

Quelle fun, come to think of it.

But to the point of Our Story.



Like a gorgeous Rare Avis it sang Diva-like from the scarf section (which we have Never visited before – people tend to give us soft dove grey/gray/Dior-shade cashmere or blocked eau-de-nil scarves and we’re not sure we’ve ever bought one or considered wearing one, not of the Parisian Lady en route to The Saloniste anyway).

Without thinking (and we do Nothing without Deep contemplation, darlings) we Bought It.

The discount shop teller girls (all very young) looked Shocked that their store contained such naughtiness as the McQueen and rare Beauty as the Lacroix – perhaps it didn’t. Maybe those items Just Happened to be there for us.

Yes, we Do think like that.

We’re going to take the Lacroix to the Day Job.

There are a few lovely people who spend time in our office on the odd occasion who will Swoop on the Lacroix, perhaps as evidence we’re changing and Lightening and blossoming……….

We don’t think we’ll wear it.

But we feel a Need to be Near it.

Perhaps it will live draped on a chair, lying elegantly as if on a chaise, awaiting some fine white chocolate bon bons with creme vanille inside and a suitor or two or three (it seems like That sort of a scarf).

These things happen to us.

And we have a suspicion that the Scar contains much of our French heritage and is starting to make decisions that our Celtic blood (which most certainly picked the McQueen) finds shocking and the bit that remains english is wringing its hands, worried that Everyone Needs to lie down until this All passes.

The Scar is taking over……………..

dear me.

What Fun.

sunday, sunday.

a well-known cure for melancholy is to have a curry in Jackson Heights, with the splendid high energy BF and explore his neighborhood of pale pink saris, sandalwood and exchange a heartfelt namaste with shopkeepers smiling at our purchase of spiritual Indian texts.

Another decidedly proven cure for listlessness is to talk about magic, witchdoctors and my little pony with the sprite, lady-of-letters and her companion.

we brought roses the shade of deep creme.

Writing is a perfect way to release what ails us.

This is moleskine 129….

Packing for Paris is also a smart way to get excited about la vie jetset again.

Our restoration is almost complete, with a languorous Sunday morning with novels and the prospect of some shopping for satin items when the city awakes.
now inside caffeine’s dark embrace…

And an opportunity to be helpful to someone in the morning…..service heals, too.

So that’s it.

The immigration scariness is still depressing but We are no longer Depressed by it.

See how bloody healthy we are, darlings ;)

How’s your weekend? Do tell.

We Adore hearing from you!