Furthermore, I firmly believe that in the UK, and particularly in Manchester, anything goes. The wackier the better. If you want to wear a pair of leopard print leggings with an oversized bright pink jumper, dye your hair multi coloured and shave one side off, then why not? People may even think to imitate your style.
So this creative licence that I have been indulging in over the past few years was about to come to an abrupt end when I departed for Paris on my year abroad. Standing at the Eurostar entrance at Gare du Nord with my scruffy giant suitcase, a campers rack sack and a threadbare giant laundry bag, I felt like a mongrel dog next to a freshly coiffed poodle. I am an embarrassment to Paris.
Clearly packing my life into two suitcases had severely limited my wardrobe but I also believed that I needed to buck up, sit up and pay more respect to my new hostess, Madame Paris, if was to ever imagine trying to fit in. I decided I was to finally invest in some new tights, wave my charity shop baggy jumpers a fond farewell and to fully embrace this new chic Parisian me. Hmmmm. Really?
As many people may have discovered from their experience of the French capital, Paris it is not a city that is kind or patient with strangers.
Stressed bartenders hiss and growl at those who don’t understand the complex unwritten codes of ordering a coffee, whilst nervous metro travellers get left behind on the platform if they don’t push themselves into an already heaving carriage. Living in Paris is about survival. And in order to survive you do how the Parisians do and dress how Parisians dress. Yet although the term ‘Paris Chic’ is constantly used to describe a desired look, I am still struggling to imagine what form this concept takes.
And then I read some unexpected fashion advice in the weekly Stylist magazine on the underground. Apparently a revolutionary fashion is about to hit Parisians. Grunge is the new word on the street. It seems maybe young Parisians are being encouraged to throw off their fancy clothes and embrace their inner tramp. Maybe I should have kept those holey tights after all.
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