That was covered with vines…lived my Inner French Girl. I’ve shown you how she hangs out in her pajamas, and what she wears for an early afternoon stroll around the city, so now I’d like to share her fabulous studio apartment. If I could make a Frankenstein-compilation of my favorite interior (and exterior) spaces, this is the apartment I would have. Er, correction, the apartment my Inner French Girl would have. Let’s not focus too much on how she pays for it; not because its origins are dubious, but because in real life she nor I could ever afford this life, and nothing about this series is anchored in real life. I mean, obviously.
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She keeps art books stacked in her fireplace, a Diptyque candle on the table, and prefers to use the back stairs in the building to get to her landing; the architectural details are more beautiful there. She decided she had to have the apartment when she laid eyes on the fireplace; for that she happily lives in 300sq. ft. The terrace along her apartment is just wide enough to stand on, but she never does, choosing only to lean onto it to water the plants or smoke another cigarette or flirt with Matthieu, the handsome bearded cellist who lives in the building across the alley, whose name might or might even be Matthieu; she made it up one night sitting in her window sill. Sometimes she toys with the idea of writing a novel, something groundbreaking (or at least heartbreaking), but just as often she’s struck with extreme self-doubt and doesn’t know how to begin. So instead she writes letters to the people she sees in the park, to the baker on the corner, to her widowed landlady, and to Matthieu’s girlfriend, or whoever the blond girl she sometimes sees is, to whom she apologizes half-heartedly.
I’m having way too much fun with this. If I could go back in time to last February, I’d start a blog called “My Inner French Girl” because if you think about it, it would accomplish the exact same thing as this one: endless pictures of Paris, drooling over macarons, all-white European apartments, and a (un)healthy dose of Gary Oldman for good measure. Man, if only, right?
This week my Inner French Girl is going out for a casual stroll. I don’t think she has a job, because it’s a Thursday and she’s got no where to be. No, I’m not living vicariously through her or anything. I don’t wish that one day my life will include walking along the Seine to the Grand Palais for no other reason than I want to see it, why? Why would I want a life that includes stopping into my local bakery and picking up a crusty baguette and wandering where the day may take me, the Eiffel Tower always in my view? God, that sounds horrible.
1. Tank / 2. Skirt / 3. Cardigan / 4. Wedges / 5. Satchel / 6. Sunglasses / 7. Lipstick / 8. Umbrella / 9. Journal / 10. Baguettes
I legitimately want everything in this picture. That tank top, the cardigan, the shoes, the bag, the umbrella, and most of all the baguettes. I could subsist solely on French baked goods if someone would let me. My dad actually bought me that journal years ago for Christmas. It’s Italian and the pages are bordered with this beautiful hand-dyed marbled paint. It’s really spectacular and I should start writing in it. My Inner French Girl writes in hers. She sits on a bench in Parc Monceau and nibbles on her baguette while she jots down little observances. Un homme et son chien amble by and he smiles warmly at her. It starts to rain lightly so she puts her notebook and what’s left of her baguette in her bag, pops open her umbrella and heads home.
So as to bore you to death with superfluous photographs of, and references to, Paris (exhibits A, B, C, D), I’ve decided to channel my wanderlust into a new series called My Inner French Girl. Since I rarely need further provocation to make a round-up of items I like/want/need (see: every post prior), this feels like a natural extension and melding of two things I’m really passionate about: the City of Lights and online shopping. My Inner French Girl will explore different daily activities, and I’ll compile a host of items specific to how the chic, petite, messy-haired, pouty-lipped Parisian goddess who lives inside of me would approach them. This series was influenced by Theresa’s fabulous “Wear in the World” series (to which I contributed, surprise!, an outfit for 24 hours in Paris that I ended up mimicking exactly on my trip there in May) and a comment conversation I had with Veanad over our own inner French girls. Hers is more refined than mine, but I’m working on it.
So to kick things off, I’d like to start at the beginning: morning. A breezy, spring morning in a teeny 6th floor studio in the 17th.
1. Pajama shirt / 2. “A Moveable Feast” / 3. Bra / 4. Pajama pants / 5. Pitcher / 6. Radio / 7. Lavender Soap / 8. Body Oil / 9. Salted Caramel Butter / 10. Croissants