Hannah Vero
Staff Writer
Every aesthetically fixated creature longs for one place; Paris, the pinnacle location of art, creativity, fashion, oozing sensuality, whispering softly in the ear of the vain and exuberant dreamer. Paris is the undeniable sultry mistress of the Continent. He painted all night while I slept and then we crept across the Dublin streets, under the cloak of nuit. As we caught a cab to the airport, the arctic chill that surrounded us froze our every breath.
Finally, I thought, Paris.
Paris has more to offer a young traveler than most people would expect. The one thing that I heard from friends every time the trip was mentioned was; “Yikes, that will be ching ching”. However, if you are willing to “rough it” in a one star hotel (twenty euro each a night for a nice twin room in the 18th Arrondissement, not bad), you have access to all the beautiful treats for free as an EU citizen under 25 including the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée d’Orangerie and countless museums. However, above all, the best free offer going in Paris is the people watching.
I spent every Parisian evening outside bars, sipping wine, simply watching all the beautiful people go by. Style is mandatory in Paris and it goes hand in hand with the trim bodies and tidy hair. I couldn’t believe my eyes, every man, woman and child looked like they had stepped out of the glossy pages of a Vogue editorial.
I asked my travelling buddy what he thought, was it a case that it was all down to money and everyone was dressing designer? He responded no and I agreed, because what I realised on the trip was that stylish people use high street consistently; how could you not? What counts is what you choose, the versatility of the look versus the price on the tag. Top dollar isn’t necessarily synonymous with top quality.
Parisian women don’t flash the goods to everybody on the street. It’s a compromise between either legs or décolleté. That said, I question this conservatism. Paris leaves calling cards of its hidden sexual antics literally on every street. The tucked away lingerie shops are full to the brim with all the naughty goodies that one finds in Ann Summers, without it being tasteless, tacky or obvious. Parisian style is not about being unsexy, it’s about appearing seductive without being garishly fake tanned and over-exposed.
It’s the sheen of class that coats every shop front, every bar and every restaurant that inevitably captures the heart of its visitors. Everyone looks stunning, artfully groomed; the Pompidou Centre kids with their “Alt” looks and sullen expressions sketching away or strumming a guitar, the businessman that you think may have been the face of Dunhill, the mother with the glossy hair holding the hand of the stylish four year old wandering through the Tuilleries, the young lady with no make-up except crimson lips (or so she would have you believe).
I envy that effortless panache that is so tricky to recreate. Dublin fashion is so highly influenced by what comes out of London that we habitually follow the trends that have a punk rock leaning; bed hair, garish colours. Our style is sharper than it is chic. It has the acidic, edgy twang that Parisian fashion lacks, and yet I can’t help lusting after the dapper refinement that they all seem to have mastered.
Paris, and its style, has a touch of magic, a sprinkling of fairy dust, sketched with the finer lines of some master painter. I saw all it has to offer; Monet, Renoir, Da Vinci, Caravaggio. The true work of art was the tailored, deliberate refinement of the people.
Here’s to people watching in Paris.
