Here, not only do they know how to embrace their feminine powers; I’m pretty sure they invented the term. Clearly I didn't want to necessarily look like a French woman (a ridiculous prospect).I still wanted to be me but not look like I've come in with yesterdays' rainy weather. Needless to say, in an effort to try and blend in a little, I bought a ton of crap I didn’t need.They shop at chain stores as much as anybody else but they buy less, preferring quality, investment pieces to the latest fad quantity.In other words, things that will last the time as opposed to high fashion pieces made in Chinese sweatshops, guaranteed to disintegrate before they outlive their ‘cool’ status.She doesn’t care about her small breasts, she thinks them sexy anyway and shows them off with low décollétes (necklines). All one needs to do is look around to confirm that this place is major insecurity territory.Needless to say, whilst people watching at a café one morning I scribbled the following in my notebook: Help!
I've even gone to the corner store with my pajamas on.
Her clothes look spontaneous, effortless as if she’s thrown them on without thinking. There’s something a little neglected about her look, something offbeat, never over-studied.
Her ‘imperfections’ in terms of beauty are thought of as charming. If there is no woman, there is no dress.” Coco Chanel Evidently, when I first arrived in France I instantly felt as though I should make more of an effort in terms of personal appearance, grooming, style – you name it I felt it.
The reason as to why I look like yesterday’s breakfast stems from my rebellious nature of not wanting to fit in, preferring to dress for comfort in boyish-type clothing.
Obviously, and much to my distress, this is the exact opposite of what happens in the land of the femme fatale.