Oh my glob what a night.
The plan was loose… we were all going to meet somewhere along Rue Saint-Honoré and figure things out from there. We knew we wanted the souvenir t-shirts. We knew we had to buy magazines to get them. That was about it.
I had an hour or so to kill. I wandered into a chocolate shop and drooled for a minute and then found a thrift store with crazy cheap clothes. I’m dedicating a separate post to thrifting though- coming soon! To make a long story short, I spent 11€ and wound up with enough clothing to fill a kitchen garbage bag. It was too much to drag around the festivities so I booked it back to the apartment to drop it off and get changed.
When I returned to the appropriate neighborhood my friends were all running late- they need never know about my silly side trip! Except that I already told them all. ANYWAY I then set off on my next mission- the shirt magazines. All I knew was that these holy magazines would be in special shops in the area around the festivities, which started around 6pm. It was maybe 6:20 and I set off down the street. After a few blocks I came across a pretty good-sized book store that devoted about half its inventory to magazines and newspapers. I asked the woman at the desk and made my way to the back- this was it! The magazine was wrapped in plastic with the t-shirt attached. It was a perfect moment. When I picked it up I was surprised by how heavy it was. I picked up the second and then untied another stack to get the third and fourth (I was buying for myself, Victoria, Imani, and Jacqui). The third and fourth didn’t have t-shirts. Merde. I ran back up to the front, she shouted to the back, and it was confirmed that there were no more. I handed over my 30€ for the two and then hit the streets again. Yes, that’s 15€ each which converts to $20, but the dollar is weaker. A euro to them is like a dollar to us when you figure in their average salary and stuff.
I’m going to make this saga shorter and just say that there were no more. Anywhere. I checked kiosks and bookstores. I met up with Imani and we walked even further up the street. Nothing. We made the tough choice of handing over our magazines (with shirts) to Victoria and Jacqui because a) Jacqui is obsessed and b) Victoria needed a souvenir. Imani and I already had another souvenir in the works… Read on, faithful follower…
Feeling bummed about our magazine failure we looked up to see Colette– the foretold place of free drink and open party. The line looked long but we were inside within 5 minutes. The place was hopping… free professional manicures with purchase of polish, music, artsy books, cotton candy downstairs (or so I heard), and fancy pants awesome clothing everywhere. Imani and I went straight upstairs to check out the clothing. The free drinks were ending but there was still a long line next to the table. A middle-aged lady with bleached hair and lavender lips told us it was for a photo shoot with a famous French photographer. Who could say no to that?
Someone that knew how long the line would take might say no. But we didn’t know. I have no regrets! We waited forever… Victoria and Jacqui finally arrived and we ceremoniously handed over the magazines. Jacqui was ecstatic. The two of them went on to tour the rest of the store and the street while we waited… I learned afterwards that they considered buying me a cotton candy but the line there was mad long as well. Quel dommage.
At the end things got a little hairy. A lady told us the shoot was almost over and we might not make it in… she said we could leave now to avoid wasting our last 40 minutes. No way, jose. Before we knew it we were up in the loft pick our colette shirts and chatting with a Greek guy. Apparently the best time to visit is in August? I’d have to stay in Europe for another 2 years to visit each locale at the perfect time, though. Then we were up.
Olivier Zahm is the name, photographing naked ladies is the game. (I did not get naked.) We introduced ourselves and after a moment he realized my hair was purple. He liked it- it goes with his magazine, Purple. Ha! I was kinda nervous- probably had timid posture- but he said something like “Yes, innocent pose. Put your hands together.” and then to Imani: “Arch your back- the tits up.” He he. I look kind of melancholy in the pic but I guess it’s good? I don’t even know. I’ve stared at it too long to know whether it looks awesome or goofy. Anyway after our photo another woman held up her camera and Olivier posed with us! I think he was kissing Imani’s cheek or forehead… I can’t even remember. Something about passion. It was wild. If you see the picture online please send me a link!
Anyway, that was the night. The festivities were pretty much over when we got out. Some might say “You wasted the whole night waiting in a line! You only saw one store!” To this I say “I couldn’t have gotten into any of the other stores anyway- it was all invite-only.” To this you would then say “Oh. Right on, little dude. Nice photo.” “Thank-you.”
Oh and we had chinese food afterwards. It was a good night.
Me ditherspazzing in the background after the photo with Zahm (he’s hugging the lady photographer).
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