A Day in the Life During Paris Fashion Week

Featuring your hostess with the mostess at Hôtel Costes, Leandra.


It is 9:02 a.m. on Tuesday, March 10th and I have been up for exactly three hours and twelve minutes. Keeping my eyes open isn’t difficult so much as it is frustrating, which is a wonder given the breakfast room in which I currently sit. There are five packed tables to both my left and right full of men and women dressed entirely in Chanel, presumably to wear their team colors to the imminent show, which is set to begin at 10:30 a.m.

Last night, I had smoked salmon rolled into bilinis which is essentially a fancy way to say pancakes for dinner, followed by a full bread basket at Hôtel Costes for dessert. My partner-in-procreation left at 2 p.m. which was upsetting given how enlightening his perspective on fashion week has been (for example: “Leandra, I stood outside the Dior show after I dropped you off yesterday — are all the shows like that? There were hundreds of photographers taking pictures of all these people and I saw Chiara Ferragamo! She really works it!”) but it is hard to contest the spectacular weather we’ve seen in this damn city all week, so I’m feeling great about still being here.

The Saint Laurent show was last night in Le Marais. There was a stage that elevated itself and put seated show attendants at head-level with the runway. That was cool. Before that, I hung out with Rosie who is holding appointments at a hotel not far from mine, and I bought a navy blue patent leather A-line mini skirt from Courrèges which is really, really due for a comeback. The morning included Stella McCartney, who always shows at the Opera house and for the occasion, displayed knit turtleneck one piece scarf things. (I don’t know why that would be “for the occasion” but the sentence works.) I sat behind Paul McCartney, who was next to Kanye West, who was next to Cara Delevingne, and wondered what that meant for the YouTube of the future.

The clothes were good, too. Sacai showed some pretty bomb-ass jackets that almost make the notion that another winter will occur in like, six months, palatable. I guess that’s what was missing in New York, right? Excitement for coats. Or maybe not. Anyway, I also stopped by Alessandra Rich’s showroom, who will blow the fuck out of your mind for Fall, which I will tell you all about in an upcoming review that will sandwich Rich between disgustingly cool designers like Natasha Zinko and Vika Gazinskaya. I don’t know if you’re wondering about what’s happening internally, but I haven’t gone to the bathroom since I left New York, which you can do with what you want.

Kenzo showed moving pillars on Sunday and Céline was like, “I am going to kill white sneakers by keeping them very much alive on this runway.” It was so subversive. Oh! And on this note, apparently the French as a collective are really gung ho on the “white sneaker trend” dying. One of the buyers at L’Eclaireur confirmed that with an eye-roll when I suggested a pair of pants in the store would look great with some.

Never mind!

I met and saw a new designer called Vyshyvanka by Vita Kin, who makes these incredible, traditional Ukrainian dresses which I plan to never not wear again. Paris is providing all that exciting butterflies in stomach flutter shit about fashion that the other cities haven’t been able to.

After a Moroccan lunch at a market in Le Marais, which sells the best Medjool dates north of Galilee, I hightailed it to Chloé at the Grand Palais but not before first getting myself embroiled in the weirdest traffic jam. This big @$$ truck tried to hook a U-y on a one-way street that looked just about wide enough to support a single bike and then sandwiched itself between two large buildings. There was no way this truck was getting out of there without like, a crane or something, but the most unusual part of the whole fiasco is that no one honked or cursed or attempted to assault the driver who got himself caught in a concrete pickle. I got out of the cab and onto the subway just in time to be wooed by a light blue corduroy suit.

Then, I came back to my hotel, mandated a shower, did not take one, instead sprayed perfume and dry shampoo, then changed into a denim mini dress and went to see the Yazbukey presentation, which was basically a cabaret performance in Saint-Germain-des-Pres. That was followed by dinner #1 at a nearby restaurant called Boissonnerie which everyone reading this is obliged to try the next time they are here, and then dinner #2 at La Belle Epoque, which on Sunday was the unofficial post-show hangout of Fashion Week.

Abie and I went back to the hotel immediately afterward and said, “Okay! Tonight is the night! We are going places! But first, let me change into something that covers my legs!” Because his legs were already covered, that last note was for me only so he stayed downstairs and ordered a hot (lukewarm, actually) water with lemon in the lobby while I went upstairs and slipped into jeans and a white shirt. By the time I came down, ready to party (or possibly eat more salmon) he was asleep at his table. It was the shortest-lived outfit change I had ever endured. We went upstairs, I brushed my teeth (maybe) and got into bed with my computer.

By 8 a.m. the following morning, I was right back here at this exact table, eating slices of grapefruit and oranges and drinking a cappuccino, which I am only calling a cappucimonkey henceforth. Team colors weren’t out yet but you could tell they were coming. Currently, we’re at seven full breakfast tables of head-to-toe Chanel. Let’s see what happens.

Update: a cafe, the best cafe, is what happened.

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  • L

    It appears that you packed mucho more than in that fit-it-all-in-a-carry-on post. Did abie get to bring any clothes?

    • Leandra Medine

      I am very lucky to have been the victim of several gifts-upon-arrival

  • AlexaJuno

    I’m sure the end of this piece is great but I fainted after you mentioned sitting behind Paul McCartney.

  • blanca

    Would love to know where your blazer that you’re wearing over your stella red dress is from? Pretty please? Thank you.

    • diane

      I believe that stellar jacket is also Stella!

      • Amelia Diamond

        I think it is, old!

  • Amelia Diamond

    Come home. (But !!!!!!!!!!!!!! to your day)

  • Kelsey Moody

    I wonder how this all looked through the eyes of that side kick of yours, Abie?? His Dior show observations are solid gold (kinda like those lace up booties you got there)

  • Ohhhh, those Natasha Zinko jeans! And the Vita Kin dress! Both are total KNOCKOUTS. It sounds like you went to the Marche des Enfants Rouge, because I know those Medjool dates of which you speak. And eat.

  • diane

    Must know the origin of that denim dress!

    • Leandra Medine


  • Annie

    Do the denim flares in the last pic have a raw hem? What kind of shoes are you wearing with them?

  • starryhye

    Man that looks fun. It is my dream to go to Paris fashion week! Can you please elaborate on this “partner in procreation” term? Does this mean there could be a tiny and fashionable man repeller on the horizon???

    • Kenns

      when I read that I immediately thought the exact same thing!

  • Natali

    Well, you are one lucky gal! I mean… I’d trade places with you for a day on PFW in a heartbeat! 🙂


  • Lessie

    God, i love reading you. Your stories are always so well told and entertaining. *pokes you so you’d write another book*

  • Celeste

    Chiara Ferragamo.

    • Amelia Diamond

      hahah isn’t abie the best

  • Marianne Ronsse

    haha poor Abie! exhausted! At least you made an honest decision to call it a night, I remember being exhausted on a trip to Rome with a girlfriend and deciding to take a “nap” before going out… and then wake up at 6am the following day…
    On the picture showing the “arm party” (#24), what is covering the person’s hand? some sort of fluffy glove or pom-pom?
    Reaally cool article by the way, keep on telling us about your fashion week adventures, in whatever city they may occur!

  • Jessica Peterson

    Two things: You and Abie look like you were fking made for each other. Send me that red and white dress.

  • Honestly kicking myself for NOT being in Paris right now (sobs quietly)



  • María Belén

    A moment of silence for that wasted outfit! I feel you. Every time we get together with my friends with means to go out, we end up just staying in my house having some drinks (which, it’s not entirely a wasted-outfit-situation but.. you wear something else to just hang out, right? IDK) kudos to that outfit! Buuuuuuut, when you have to sleep, you have to sleep!

  • Ask Socratic

    I’ve always wanted to ask you which Fashion Week has been your favourite experience?


  • Parisbreakfast

    The Best Moroccan food in Paris! At Marché des Enfants Rouge.
    You didn’t miss a thing. Now to catch up and I live here…

  • Elly


  • Your legs are phenomenal.

  • reversecommuter

    I’m literally about to take off to Paris for a dirty weekend (w my husband of 14 yrs), and have dinner rezis at La Belle Époque. Where can I find Vyshyvanka by Vita Kin in Paris, please?!!!!