Live From Paris: A Day in the Life
Leandra walks you through her typical day during Paris Fashion Week, eats a lot of nuts
It is 8:45 a.m. on Friday, March 4th and I’ve just woken up feeling more proud than the father of little league champion because I am sure that I have beaten jet lag. The best part of this realization is that while my eyes are opening, Abie!, exclusive brand partner in procreation and recreation has just arrived in France with my childhood blanket. (The blanket’s name is E.E., like E.E. Cummings, but that is purely coincidence.) While he unpacks, I take my computer downstairs to the breakfast room for the free breakfast that comes included in the hotel rate. As such, I start with two plates: one of fruit and one of eggs, before I move on to prunes. I have not gone to the bathroom yet in case you are wondering.
I’m working on a review from yesterday’s shows and calling it “Have We Been Robbed of Our Imaginations?” because I am extremely dramatic but also because I can’t stop thinking about how great it is to be a kid with the sort of boundless imagination that lets you think anything is possible because, guess what!, it is.
Something super cool happens as I am punctuating part three of this review wherein all the words I have already written disappear into the helpless abyss of an incompetent cache but there is no time to figure this out quite yet because I have just spent the past one and half hours working on this story and am now late for a shoot at Courrèges in the extremely fancy part of Paris — like, so fancy you feel excessive going over there and can’t compare it to anywhere else because America is just not the kind of place that will turn you away if it doesn’t like your taste in shoes.
So! In between my panic about having lost the g-dang review, but needing to get to Fancy Paris, I manage to find time to accrue three selfies and then haul ass over. The shoot is speedy-as-fuq, arguably because they realize I am not model, but possibly, also, because I am too good at modeling! I’m gonna go with neither. I walk back to my hotel to meet my procpart (Abie — partner in procreation) who has, like a fucking magician, found the review somewhere on the Internet. He tells me that because I’d hit publish, it was in fact saved in the cache and to tell Amelia to be careful because she is the kind of person who could become embroiled in a sex scandal for that reason exactly. I eat some nuts because I’m nuts about them and with one hour to spare before the Dior show, Abie suggests that we go to Dries Van Noten. So we do. He says that Sies Marjan reminds him of Dries and I am just like, ??? Before we go to Dior, I try to talk him into a pair of leopard print shorts (for him! Not me!) that are about the size of a peanut.
Then we go to the Carrousel du Louvre for Dior.
I try to sneak him in.
Cannot sneak him in.
Sit next to Eva Chen.
Laugh at all the accessories on display and assume that because the house has no official creative director they are trying to push peripheral product.
Then I go to Isabel Marant where it starts raining torrentially while we are ensconced in a large plastic bubble waiting for the show to start. Magically, the rain stops when the show does but I think to myself that some of that vinyl/patent leather would be purrrrrrfect for the weather. It’s a good show! Following the show, I have coffee with Caroline de Maigret who is possibly the coolest human on earth and definitely the coolest human in France. She is wearing a yellow coat, I say she looks a bit like a banana. Because I’m in a white suit, she tells me that I look “sharp…for once.” We laugh and talk about all the ways in which people take themselves too seriously and how we can positively affect the girls becoming women and prove to them that being yourself is enough! It’s good! It’s cool!
Following coffee, I head back to my hotel where I find Abie doing what else? Slumbrahaming.
Or is he?
I put it on. And then layer a big-ass sweater over.
And then I try on some boots.
Here’s where we go to Angelina where the CFDA is hosting an event for the Americans in Paris showroom. Angelina is a restaurant on Rue de Rivoli. They have insanely good hot chocolate. It is literally melted chocolate in a cup. There is no hot chocolate, but there *are* tomatoes stuffed with basil! Mmm…
Somehow, we end up in a smoked fish factory and I realize my right arm has been amputated — writing this was super hard, but you make do with what you’ve got and before you know it! Boom. We’re in Georgia (the country, not state).
Just kidding. I wanted to see if you were paying attention.
The rest of the night does actually include smoked fish but we don’t eat any of it. Just get a whiff on our way to dinner at this place called the Ellsworth, which is potentially the only restaurant in Paris that serves kale salad. (Don’t worry! There are bread crumbs on it and melted cheese around it.) I drink organic wine, which is obviously very strong, and the next thing I know, I’m in Georgia (the country, not the state).
Just kidding! Are you still reading?
Seriously, though, the next thing I know, it’s Saturday morning, there are two earrings next to me in bed and a piece of pistachio covered chocolate and I’ve got to go downstairs, eat some eggs and do that all over again.
Collage by Elizabeth Tamkin.